THEEE 


BOOKS  OF  SONG 


BY 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


BOSTON : 
JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  AND   COMPANY. 

1872. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872, 

BY    HENRY  WADSWOETH    LONGFELLOW, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS:  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


CONTENTS. 

• 

BOOK   FIRST. 
TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

THE    SECOND   DAY. 

PAGE 

PRELUDE  3 

THE  SICILIAN'S  TALE. 

THE  BELL  OF  Ami .11 

INTERLUDE 18 

THE  SPANISH  JEW'S  TALE. 

KAMBALU .22 

INTERLUDE 28 

THE  STUDENT'S  TALE. 

THE  COBBLER  OF  HAGENAU 30 

INTERLUDE 43 

THE  MUSICIAN'S  TALE. 

THE  BALLAD  OF  CARMILHAN  ....  47 

INTERLUDE 64 

THE  POET'S  TALE. 

LADY  WENTWORTH 67 

INTERLUDE 77 


284765 


!V  CONTENTS. 

THE  THEOLOGIAN'S  TALE. 

T.HE  LEGEND  BEAUTIFUL  ....  79 

INTERLUDE §7 

THE  STUDENT'S  SECOND  TALE. 

THE  BARON  OF  ST.  CASTINE  •  ...  90 
FINALE 


BOOK   SECOND. 

JUDAS  MACCABEUS HI 

BOOK   THIRD. 
A    HANDFUL    OF    TRANSLATIONS. 

THE  FUGITIVE »  177 

THE  SIEGE  OF  KAZAN 184 

THE  BOY  AND  THE  BROOK 186 

To  THE  STORK 188 

CONSOLATION 190 

To  CARDINAL  RICHELIEU 193 

THE  ANGEL  AND  THE  CHILD 195 

To  ITALY 198 

WANDERER'S  NIGHT-SONGS 200 

REMORSE 202 

SANTA  TERESA'S  BOOK-MARK 204 


BOOK    FIEST. 


TALES  OF  A  WAYSIDE  INN. 

THE    SECOND    DAY. 


UNIV.  OF 


PRELUDE. 

A  COLD,  uninterrupted  rain, 

That  washed  each  southern  window-pane, 

And  made  a  river  of  the  road ; 

A  sea  of  mist  that  overflowed 

The  house,  the  barns,  the  gilded  vane, 

And  drowned  the  upland  and  the  plain, 

Through  which  the  oak-trees,  broad  and  high, 

Like  phantom  ships  went  drifting  by ; 

And,  hidden  behind  a  watery  screen, 

The  sun  unseen,  or  only  seen 

As  a  faint  pallor  in  the  sky ;  — 

Thus  cold  and  colorless  and  gray, 

The  morn  of  that  autumnal  day, 

As  if  reluctant  to  begin, 


•  . 

'-'      •  v  j  »••:  5  : 


TALES    OF    A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

f 

Dawned  on  the  silent  Sudbury  Inn, 
And  all  the  guests  that  in  it  lay. 

Full  late  they  slept.     They  did  not  hear 
The  challenge  of  Sir  Chanticleer, 
Who  on  the  empty  threshing-floor, 
Disdainful  of  the  rain  outside, 
"Was  strutting  with  a  martial  stride, 
As  if  upon  his  thigh  he  wore 
The  famous  broadsword  of  the  Squire, 
And  said,  "  Behold  me  and  admire  I  " 

Only  the  Poet  seemed  to  hear, 
In  drowse  or  dream,  more  near  and  near 
Across  the  border-land  of  sleep 
The  blowing  of  a  blithesome  horn, 
That  laughed  the  dismal  day  to  scorn  ; 
A  splash  of  hoofs  and  rush  of  wheels 
Through  sand  and  mire  like  stranding  keels, 
As  from  the  road  with  sudden  sweep 


PRELUDE. 


The  Mail  drove  up  the  little  steep, 
And  stopped  beside  the  tavern  door ; 
A  moment  stopped,  and  then  again 
With  crack  of  whip  and  bark  of  dog 
Plunged  forward  through  the  sea  of  fog, 
And  all  was  silent  as  before, — 
All  silent  save  the  dripping  rain. 

Then  one  by  one  the  guests  came  down, 
And  greeted  with  a  smile  the  Squire, 
Who  sat  before  the  parlor  fire, 
Reading  the  paper  fresh  from  town. 
First  the  Sicilian,  like  a  bird, 
Before  his  form  appeared,  was  heard 
Whistling  and  singing  down  the  stair ; 
Then  came  the  Student,  with  a  look 
As  placid  as  a  meadow-brook ; 
The  Theologian,  still  perplexed 
With  thoughts  of  this  world  and  the  next ; 
The  Poet  then,  as  one  who  seems 


TALES    OF    A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

Walking  in  visions  and  in  dreams ; 
Then  the  Musician,  like  a  fair 
Hyperion  from  whose  golden  hair 
The  radiance  of  the  morning  streams ; 
And  last  the  aromatic  Jew 
Of  Alicant,  who,  as  he  threw 
The  door  wide  open,  011  the  air 
Breathed  round  about  him  a  perfume 
Of  damask  roses  in  full  bloom, 
Making  a  garden  of  the  room. 

The  breakfast  ended,  each  pursued 
The  promptings  of  his  various  mood  ; 
Beside  the  fire  in  silence  smoked 
The  taciturn,  impassive  Jew, 
Lost  in  a  pleasant  reverie ; 
While,  by  his  gravity  provoked, 
His  portrait  the  Sicilian  drew, 
And  wrote  beneath  it  "  Edrehi, 
At  the  Eed  Horse  in  Sudbury." 


PRELUDE.  * 

By  far  the  busiest  of  them  all, 

The  Theologian  in  the  hall 

Was  feeding  robins  in  a  cage,  — 

Two  corpulent  and  lazy  birds, 

Vagrants  and  pilferers  at  best, 

If  one  might  trust  the  hostler's  words, 

Chief  instrument  of  their  arrest ; 

Two  poets  of  the  Golden  Age, 

Heirs  of  a  boundless  heritage 

Of  fields  and  orchards,  east  and  west, 

And  sunshine  of  long  summer  days, 

Though  outlawed  now  and  dispossessed !  - 

Such  was  the  Theologian's  phrase. 

Meanwhile  the  Student  held  discourse 
With  the  Musician,  on  the  source 
Of  all  the  legendary  lore 
Among  the  nations,  scattered  wide 
Like  silt  and  seaweed  by  the  force 
And  fluctuation  of  the  tide ; 


TALES    OF    A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

The  tale  repeated  o'er  and  o'er, 
With,  change  of  place  and  change  of  name, 
Disguised,  transformed,  and  yet  the  same 
We  've  heard  a  hundred  times  before. 

The  Poet  at  the  window  mused, 
And  saw,  as  in  a  dream  confused, 
The  countenance  of  the  Sun,  discrowned, 
And  haggard  with  a  pale  despair, 
And  saw  the  cloud-rack  trail  and  drift 
Before  it,  and  the  trees  uplift 
Their  leafless  branches,  and  the  air 
Filled  with  the  arrows  of  the  rain, 
And  heard  amid  the  mist  below, 
Like  voices  of  distress  and  pain, 
That  haunt  the  thoughts  of  men  insane, 
The  fateful  cawings  of  the  crow. 

Then  down  the  road,  with  mud  besprent, 
And  drenched  with  rain  from  head  to  hoof, 


PRELUDE. 

The  rain-drops  dripping  from  his  mane 
And  tail  as  from  a  pent-house  roof, 
A  jaded  horse,  his  head  down  bent, 
Passed  slowly,  limping  as  he  went. 

The  young  Sicilian  —  who  had  grown 
Impatient  longer  to  abide 
A  prisoner,  greatly  mortified 
To  see  completely  overthrown 
His  plans  for  angling  in  the  brook, 
And,  leaning  o'er  the  bridge  of  stone, 
To  watch  the  speckled  trout  glide  by, 
And  float  through  the  inverted  sky, 
Still  round  and  round  the  baited  hook  — 
Now  paced  the  room  with  rapid  stride, 
And,  pausing  at  the  Poet's  side. 
Looked  forth,  and  saw  the  wretched  steed, 
And  said  :  "  Alas  for  human  greed, 
That  with  cold  hand  and  stony  eye 
Thus  turns  an  old  friend  out  to  die, 


1U  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE 

Or  beg  his  food  from  gate 
This  brings  a  tale  into  my 
Which,  if  you  are  not  disii 
To  listen,  I  will  now  relate.1 


All  gave  assent ;  all  wishec 
Not  without  many  a  jest  ai 
The  story  of  a  spavined 
And  even  the  Student  withj 
Put  in  his  pleasant  little  jej 
Out  of  Malherbe,  that 
Is  but  a  horse  that  with  all 
Bears  poets  to  the  hospital  ;| 
While  the  Sicilian,  self-possessed, 
After  a  moment's  interval 
Began  his  simple  story  thus. 


THE  SICILIAN'S  TALE. 

THE   BELL    OF   ATRI. 

AT  Atri  in  Abruzzo,  a  small  town 

Of  ancient  Eoman  date,  but  scant  renown, 

One  of  those  little  places  that  have  run 

Half  up  the  hill,  beneath  a  blazing  sun, 

And  then  sat  down  to  rest,  as  if  to  say, 

"  I  climb  no  farther  upward,  come  what  may,"  — 

The  Ee  Giovanni,  now  unknown  to  fame, 

So  many  monarchs  since  have  borne  the  name, 

Had  a  great  bell  hung  in  the  market-place 

Beneath  a  roof,  projecting  some  small  space, 

By  way  of  shelter  from  the  sun  and  rain. 

Then  rode  he  through  the  streets  with  all  his 

train, 
And,  with  the  blast  of  trumpets  loud  and  long, 


12  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

Made  proclamation,  that  whenever  wrong 
Was  done  to  any  man,  he  should  but  ring 
The  great  bell  in  the  square,  and  he,  the  King, 
Would  cause  the  Syndic  to  decide  thereon. 
Such  was  the  proclamation  of  King  John. 

How  swift  the  happy  days  in  Atri  sped, 

What  wrongs  were  righted,  need  not  here  be 

said. 

Suffice  it  that,  as  all  things  must  decay, 
The  hempen  rope  at  length  was  worn  away, 
Unravelled  at  the  end,  and,  strand  by  strand, 
Loosened  and  wasted  in  the  ringer's  hand, 
Till  one,  who  noted  this  in  passing  by, 
Mended  the  rope  with  braids  of  briony, 
So  that  the  leaves  and  tendrils  of  the  vine 
Hung  like  a  votive  garland  at  a  shrine. 

By  chance  it  happened  that  in  Atri  dwelt 

A  knight,  with  spur  on  heel  and  sword  in  belt, 


THE    BELL   OF   ATRI.  13 

Who  loved  to  hunt  the  wild-boar  in  the  woods, 
Who  loved  his  falcons  with  their  crimson  hoods, 
Who  loved  his  hounds  and  horses,  and  all  sports 
And  prodigalities  of  camps  and  courts ;  — 
Loved,  or  had  loved  them  ;  for  at  last,  grown  old, 
His  only  passion  was  the  love  of  gold. 

He  sold  his  horses,  sold  his  hawks  and  hounds, 
Kented  his  vineyards  and  his  garden-grounds, 
Kept  but  one  steed,  his  favorite  steed  of  all, 
To  starve  and  shiver  in  a  naked  stall, 
And  day  by  day  sat  brooding  in  his  chair, 
Devising  plans  how  best  to  hoard  and  spare. 

At  length  he  said :  "  What  is  the  use  or  need 
To  keep  at  my  own  cost  this  lazy  steed, 
Eating  his  head  off  in  my  stables  here, 
When  rents  are  low  and  provender  is  dear  ? 
Let  him  go  feed  upon  the  public  ways ; 
I  want  him  only  for  the  holidays." 


14  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

So  the  old  steed  was  turned  into  the  heat 
Of  the  long,  lonely,  silent,  shadeless  street ; 
And  wandered  in  suburban  lanes  forlorn, 
Barked  at  by  dogs,  and  torn  by  brier  and  thorn. 

One  afternoon,  as  in  that  sultry  clime 
It  is  the  custom  in  the  summer  time, 
With  bolted  doors  and  window-shutters  closed, 
The  inhabitants  of  Atri  slept  or  dozed  ; 
When  suddenly  upon  their  senses  fell 
The  loud  alarum  of  the  accusing  bell ! 
The  Syndic  started  from  his  deep  repose, 
Turned  on  his  couch,  and  listened,  and  then  rose 
And  donned  his  robes,  and  with  reluctant  pace 
Went  panting  forth  into  the  market-place, 
Where  the  great  bell  upon  its  cross-beam  swung 
Eeiterating  with  persistent  tongue, 
In  half-articulate  jargon,  the  old  song : 
"Some  one  hath  done  a  wrong,  hath  done  a 
wrong ! " 


THE    BELL    OF   ATRI.  15 

But  ere  he  reached  the  belfry's  light  arcade 
He  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  beneath  its  shade, 
'No  shape  of  human  form  of  woman  born, 
But  a  poor  steed  dejected  and  forlorn, 
Who  with  uplifted  head  and  eager  eye 
Was  tugging  at  the  vines  of  briony. 
"  Domeneddio  !  "  cried  the  Syndic  straight, 
"  This  is  the  Knight  of  Atri's  steed  of  state ! 
He  calls  for  justice,  being  sore  distressed, 
And  pleads  his  cause  as  loudly  as  the  best." 

Meanwhile  from  street  and  lane  a  noisy  crowd 
Had  rolled  together  like  a  summer  cloud, 
And  told  the  story  of  the  wretched  beast 
In  five-and-twenty  different  ways  at  least, 
With  much  gesticulation  and  appeal 
To  heathen  gods,  in  their  excessive  zeal. 
The  Knight  was  called  and  questioned ;  in  reply 
Did  not  confess  the  fact,  did  not  deny ; 
Treated  the  matter  as  a  pleasant  jest, 


16  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

And  set  at  naught  the  Syndic  and  the  rest, 
Maintaining  in  an  angry  undertone, 
That  he  should  do  what  pleased  him  with  his 
own. 

And  thereupon  the  Syndic  gravely  read 
The  proclamation  of  the  King ;  then  said : 
"  Pride  goeth  forth  on  horseback  grand  and  gay, 
But  cometh  back  on  foot,  and  begs  its  way ; 
Fame  is  the  fragrance  of  heroic  deeds, 
Of  flowers  of  chivalry  and  not  of  weeds ! 
These  are  familiar  proverbs  ;  but  I  fear 
They  never  yet  have  reached  your  knightly  ear. 
What  fair  renown,  what  honor,  what  repute 
Can  come  to  you  from  starving  this  poor  brute  ? 
He  who  serves  well  and  speaks  not,  merits  more 
Than  they  who  clamor  loudest  at  the  door. 
Therefore  the  law  decrees  that  as  this  steed 
Served  you  in  youth,  henceforth  you  shall  take 
heed 


THE    BELL    OF    ATRI.  17 

To  comfort  his  old  age,  and  to  provide 
Shelter  in  stall,  and  food  and  field  beside." 

The  Knight  withdrew  abashed  ;  the  people  all 
Led  home  the  steed  in  triumph  to  his  stall. 
The  King  heard  and  approved,  and  laughed  in 

glee, 

And  cried  aloud  :  "  Eight  well  it  pleaseth  me  ! 
Church-bells  at  best  but  ring  us  to  the  door ; 
But  go  not  in  to  mass  ;  my  bell  doth  more : 
It  cometh  into  court  and  pleads  the  cause 
Of  creatures  dumb  and  unknown  to  the  laws  ; 
And  this  shall  make,  in  every  Christian  clime, 
The  Bell  of  Atri  famous  for  all  time." 


INTERLUDE. 

"  YES,  well  your  story  pleads  the  cause 

Of  those  dumb  mouths  that  have  no  speech, 

Only  a  cry  from  each  to  each 

In  its  own  kind,  with  its  own  laws  ; 

Something  that  is  beyond  the  reach 

Of  human  power  to  learn  or  teach,  — 

An  inarticulate  moan  of  pain, 

Like  the  immeasurable  main 

Breaking  upon  an  unknown  beach." 

Thus  spake  the  Poet  with  a  sigh  ; 
Then  added,  with  impassioned  cry, 
As  one  who  feels  the  words  he  speaks, 
The  color  flushing  in  his  cheeks, 
The  fervor  burning  in  his  eye : 


INTERLUDE.  19 

"Among  the  noblest  in  the  land, 
Though  he  may  count  himself  the  least, 
That  man  I  honor  and  revere 
Who  without  favor,  without  fear, 
In  the  great  city  dares  to  stand 
The  friend  of  every  friendless  beast, 
And  tames  with  his  unflinching  hand 
The  brutes  that  wear  our  form  and  face, 
The  were- wolves  of  the  human  race  !  " 
Then  paused,  and  waited  with  a  frown, 
Like  some  old^champion  of  romance, 
Who,  having  thrown  his  gauntlet  down, 
Expectant  leans  upon  his  lance  ; 
But  neither  Knight  nor  Squire  is  found 
To  raise  the  gauntlet  from  the  ground, 
And  try  with  him  the  battle's  chance. 

"  Wake  from  your  dreams,  0  Edrehi ! 
Or  dreaming  speak  to  us,  and  make 
A  feint  of  being  half  awake, 


20  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

And  tell  us  what  your  dreams  may  be. 

Out  of  the  hazy  atmosphere 

Of  cloud-land  deign  to  reappear 

Among  us  in  this  Wayside  Inn ; 

Tell  us  what  visions  and  what  scenes 

Illuminate  the  dark  ravines 

In  which  you  grope  your  way.     Begin  !  " 

Thus  the  Sicilian  spake.     The  Jew 
Made  no  reply,  but  only  smiled, 
As  men  unto  a  wayward  child, 
Not  knowing  what  to  answer,  do. 
As  from  a  cavern's  mouth,  o'ergrown 
With  moss  and  intertangled  vines, 
A  streamlet  leaps  into  the  light 
And  murmurs  over  root  and  stone 
In  a  melodious  undertone ; 
Or  as  amid  the  noonday  night 
Of  sombre  and  wind-haunted  pines, 
There  runs  a  sound  as  of  the  sea : 


INTERLUDE.  21 

So  from  his  bearded  lips  there  came 

A  melody  without  a  name, 

A  song,  a  tale,  a  history, 

Or  whatsoever  it  may  be, 

Writ  and  recorded  in  these  lines. 


THE   SPANISH  JEW'S   TALE. 

KAMBALU. 

INTO  the  city  of  Kambalu, 
By  the  road  that  leadeth  to  Ispahan, 
At  the  head  of  his  dusty  caravan, 
Laden  with  treasure  from  realms  afar, 
Baldacca  and  Kelat  and  Kandahar, 
Eode  the  great  captain  AJau. 

The  Khan  from  his  palace- window  gazed, 
And  saw  in  the  thronging  street  beneath, 
In  the  light  of  the  setting  sun,  that  blazed 
Through  the  clouds  of  dust  by  the  caravan  raised, 
The  flash  of  harness  and  jewelled  sheath, 
And  the  shining  scymitars  of  the  guard, 
And  the  weary  camels  that  bared  their  teeth, 


KAMBALU.  23 

As  they  passed  and  passed  through  the  gates 

unbarred 
Into  the  shade  of  the  palace-yard. 

Thus  into  the  city  of  Kambalu 

Eode  the  great  captain  Alau ; 

And  he  stood  before  the  Khan,  and  said : 

"  The  enemies  of  my  lord  are  dead  ; 

All  the  Kalifs  of  all  the  West 

Bow  and  obey  thy  least  behest ; 

The  plains  are  dark  with  the  mulberry-trees, 

The  weavers  are  busy  in  Samarcand, 

•The  miners  are  sifting  the  golden  sand, 

The  divers  plunging  for  pearls  in  the  seas, 

And  peace  and  plenty  are  in  the  land. 

"  Baldacca's  Kalif,  and  he  alone, 
Eose  in  revolt  against  thy  throne  : 
His  treasures  are  at  thy  palace-door, 


24  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

With  the  swords  and  the  shawls  and  the  jewels 

he  wore ; 
His  body  is  dust  o'er  the  desert  blown. 


"  A  mile  outside  of  Baldacca's  gate 
I  left  my  forces  to  lie  in  wait, 
Concealed  by  forests  and  hillocks  of  sand, 
And  forward  dashed  with  a  handful  of  men, 
To  lure  the  old  tiger  from  his  den 
Into  the  ambush  I  had  planned. 
Ere  we  reached  the  town  the  alarm  was  spread, 
For  we  heard  the  sound  of  gongs  from  within ; 
And  with  clash  of  cymbals  and  warlike  din 
The  gates  swung  wide ;  and  we  turned  and  fled ; 
And  the  garrison  sallied  forth  and  pursued, 
With  the  gray  old  Kalif  at  their  head, 
And  above  them  the  banner  of  Mohammed : 
So  we  snared  them  all,  and  the  town  was  sub 
dued. 


KAMBALU.  25 

"  As  in  at  the  gate  we  rode,  behold, 

A  tower  that  is  called  the  Tower  of  Gold ! 

For  there  the  Kalif  had  hidden  his  wealth, 

Heaped  and  hoarded  and  piled  on  high, 

Like  sacks  of  wheat  in  a  granary ; 

And  thither  the  miser  crept  by  stealth 

To  feel  of  the  gold  that  gave  him  health, 

And  to  gaze  and  gloat  with  his  hungry  eye 

On  jewels    that    gleamed  like  a  glow-worm's 

spark, 
Or  the  eyes  of  a  panther  in  the  dark. 

"  I  said  to  the  Kalif :  <  Thou  art  old, 
Thou  hast  no  need  of  so  much  gold. 
Thou  shouldst  not  have  heaped  and  hidden  it 

here, 

Till  the  breath  of  battle  was  hot  and  near, 
But  have  sown  through  the  land  these  useless 

hoards 
To  spring  into  shining  blades  of  swords, 


26  TALES    OF   A   WAYSIDE   INN. 

And  keep  thine  honor  sweet  and  clear. 
These  grains  of  gold  are  not  grains  of  wheat ; 
These  bars  of  silver  thou  canst  not  eat ; 
These  jewels  and  pearls  and  precious  stones 
Cannot  cure  the  aches  in  thy  bones, 
Nor  keep  the  feet  of  Death  one  hour 
From  climbing  the  stairways  of  thy  tower  ! ' 

"  Then  into  his  dungeon  I  locked  the  drone, 
And  left  him  to  feed  there  all  alone 
In  the  honey-cells  of  his  golden  hive : 
Never  a  prayer,  nor  a  cry,  nor  a  groan 
Was  heard  from  those  massive  walls  of  stone, 
Nor  again  was  the  Kalif  seen  alive  ! 

"  When  at  last  we  unlocked  the  door, 

We  found  him  dead  upon  the  floor ; 

The  rings  had  dropped  from  his  withered  hands, 

His  teeth  were  like  bones  in  the  desert  sands : 

Still  clutching  his  treasure  he  had  died  ; 


KAMBALU.  27 

And  as  he  lay  there,  he  appeared 
A  statue  of  gold  with  a  silver  beard, 
His  arms  outstretched  as  if  crucified." 

This  is  the  story,  strange  and  true,    . 
That  the  great  captain  Alau 
Told  to  his  brother  the  Tartar  Khan, 
When  he  rode  that  day  into  Kambalu 
By  the  road  that  leadeth  to  Ispahan. 


INTERLUDE. 

"  I  THOUGHT  before  your  tale  began/' 
The  Student  murmured,  "  we  should  have 
Some  legend  written  by  Judah  Eav 
In  his  Gemara  of  Babylon ; 
Or  something  from  the  Gulistan,  — 
The  tale  of  the  Cazy  of  Hamadan, 
Or  of  that  King  of  Khorasan 
Who  saw  in  dreams  the  eyes  of  one 
That  had  a  hundred  years  been  dead 
Still  moving  restless  in  his  head, 
Undimmed,  and  gleaming  with  the  lust 
Of  power,  though  all  the  rest  was  dust. 

"  But  lo  !  your  glittering  caravan 
On  the  road  that  leadeth  to  Ispahan 


INTERLUDE.  29 

Hath  led  us  farther  to  the  East 
Into  the  regions  of  Cathay. 
Spite  of  your  Kalif  and  his  gold, 
Pleasant  has  been  the  tale  you  told, 
And  full  of  color ;  that  at  least 
No  one  will  questioner  gainsay. 
And  yet  on  such  a  dismal  day 
"We  need  a  merrier  tale  to  clear 
The  dark  and  heavy  atmosphere. 
So  listen,  Lordlings,  while  I  tell, 
Without  a  preface,  what  befell 
A  simple  cobbler,  in  the  year  — 
No  matter ;  it  was  long  ago  ; 
And  that  is  all  we  need  to  know." 


THE   STUDENT'S   TALE. 

THE    COBBLER    OF    HAGENAU. 

I  TRUST  that  somewhere  and  somehow 
You  all  have  heard  of  Hagenau, 
A  quiet,  quaint,  and  ancient  town 
Among  the  green  Alsatian  hills, 
A  place  of  valleys,  streams,  and  mills, 
Where  Barbarossa's  castle,  brown 
With  rust  of  centuries,  still  looks  down 
On  the  broad,  drowsy  land  below,  — 
On  shadowy  forests  filled  with  game, 
And  the  blue  river  winding  slow 
Through  meadows,  where  the  hedges  grow 
That  give  this  little  town  its  name. 

It  happened  in  the  good  old  times, 
While  yet  the  Master-singers  filled 


THE    COBBLER    OF   HAGENAU.  31 

The  noisy  workshop  and  the  guild 
With  various  melodies  and  rhymes, 
That  here  in  Hagenau  there  dwelt 
A  cobbler,  —  one  who  loved  debate, 
And,  arguing  from  a  postulate, 
Would  say  what  others  only  felt ; 
A  man  of  forecast  and  of  thrift, 
And  of  a  shrewd  and  careful  mind 
In  this  world's  business,  but  inclined 
Somewhat  to  let  the  next  world  drift. 

Hans  Sachs  with  vast  delight  he  read, 
And  Eegenbogen's  rhymes  of  love, 
For  their  poetic  fame  had  spread 
Even  to  the  town  of  Hagenau ; 
And  some  Quick  Melody  of  the  Plough, 
Or  Double  Harmony  of  the  Dove, 
Was  always  running  in  his  head. 
He  kept,  moreover,  at  his  side, 
Among  his  leathers  and  his  tools, 


32  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

Keynard  the  Fox,  the  Ship  of  Fools, 

Or  Eulenspiegel,  open  wide  ; 

With  these  he  was  much  edified : 

He  thought  them  wiser  than  the  Schools. 

His  good  wife,  full  of  godly  fear, 

Liked  not  these  worldly  themes  to  hear ; 

The  Psalter  was  her  book  of  songs ; 

The  only  music  to  her  ear 

Was  that  which  to  the  Church  belongs, 

When  the  loud  choir  on  Sunday  chanted, 

And  the  two  angels  carved  in  wood, 

That  by  the  windy  organ  stood, 

Blew  on  their  trumpets  loud  and  clear, 

And  all  the  echoes,  far  and  near, 

Gibbered  as  if  the  church  were  haunted. 

Outside  his  door,  one  afternoon, 
This  humble  votary  of  the  muse 
Sat  in  the  narrow  strip  of  shade 


THE    COBBLER    OF    HAGENAU. 

By  a  projecting  cornice  made, 
Mending  the  Burgomaster's  shoes, 
And  singing  a  familiar  tune  : 

"  Our  ingress  into  the  world 

Was  naked  and  bare ; 
Our  progress  through  the  world 

Is  trouble  and  care  ; 
Our  egress  from  the  world 

Will  be  nobody  knows  where : 
But  if  we  do  well  here 

We  shall  do  well  there  ; 
And  I  could  tell  you  no  more, 

Should  I  preach  a  whole  year  ! " 

Thus  sang  the  cobbler  at  his  work ; 
And  with  his  gestures  marked  the  time, 
Closing  together  with  a  jerk 
Of  his  waxed  thread  the  stitch  and  rhyme. 
Meanwhile  his  quiet  little  dame 


34  TALES    OF   A   WAYSIDE   INN. 

"Was  leaning  o'er  the  window-sill, 

Eager,  excited,  but  mouse-still, 

Gazing  impatiently  to  see 

What  the  great  throng  of  folk  might  be 

That  onward  in  procession  came, 

Along  the  unfrequented  street, 

With  horns  that  blew,  and  drums  that  beat, 

And  banners  flying,  and  the  flame 

Of  tapers,  and,  at  times,  the  sweet 

Voices  of  nuns ;  and  as  they  sang 

Suddenly  all  the  church-bells  rang. 

In  a  gay  coach,  above  the  crowd, 
There  sat  a  monk  in  ample  hood, 
Who  with  his  right  hand  held  aloft 
A  red  and  ponderous  cross  of  wood, 
To  which  at  times  he  meekly  bowed. 
In  front  three  horsemen  rode,  and  oft, 
With  voice  and  air  importunate, 
A  boisterous  herald  cried  aloud : 


THE    COBBLER    OP   IIAGENAU.  35 

"  The  grace  of  God  is  at  your  gate ! " 
So  onward  to  the  church  they  passed. 

The  cobbler  slowly  turned  his  last, 
And,  wagging  his  sagacious  head, 
Unto  his  kneeling  housewife  said : 
"  'T  is  the  monk  Tetzel.     I  have  heard 
The  cawings  of  that  reverend  bird. 
Don't  let  him  cheat  you  of  your  gold ; 
Indulgence  is  not  bought  and  sold." 

The  church  of  Hagenau,  that  night, 
Was  full  of  people,  full  of  light ; 
An  odor  of  incense  filled  the  air, 
The  priest  intoned,  the  organ  groaned 
Its  inarticulate  despair ; 
The  candles  on  the  altar  blazed, 
And  full  in  front  of  it  upraised 
The  red  cross  stood  against  the  glare. 
Below,  upon  the  altar-rail 


36  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

I 

Indulgences  were  set  to  sale, 

Like  ballads  at  a  country  fair. 

A  heavy  strong-box,  iron-bound 

And  carved  with  many  a  quaint  device, 

Received,  with  a  melodious  sound, 

The  coin  that  purchased  Paradise. 

Then  from  the  pulpit  overhead, 

Tetzel  the  monk,  with  fiery  glow, 

Thundered  upon  the  crowd  below. 

"  Good  people  all,  draw  near  ! "  he  said ; 

"  Purchase  these  letters,  signed  and  sealed, 

By  which  all  sins,  though  unrevealed 

And  unrepented,  are  forgiven ! 

Count  but  the  gain,  count  not  the  loss ! 

Your  gold  and  silver  are  but  dross, 

And  yet  they  pave  the  way  to  heaven. 

I  hear  your  mothers  and  your  sires 

Cry  from  their  purgatorial  fires, 

And  will  ye  not  their  ransom  pay  ? 


THE    COBBLER    OF   HAGENAU.  37 

0  senseless  people  !  when  the  gate 
Of  heaven  is  open,  will  ye  wait  ? 
Will  ye  not  enter  in  to-day  ? 
To-morrow  it  will  be  too  late ; 

1  shall  be  gone  upon  my  way. 

Make  haste  !  bring  money  while  ye  may  ! " 

The  women  shuddered,  and  turned  pale  ; 

Allured  by  hope  or  driven  by  fear, 

With  many  a  sob  and  many  a  tear, 

All  crowded  to  the  altar-rail. 

Pieces  of  silver  and  of  gold 

Into  the  tinkling  strong-box  fell 

Like  pebbles  dropped  into  a  well ; 

And  soon  the  ballads  were  all  sold. 

The  cobbler's  wife  among  the  rest 

Slipped  into  the  capacious  chest 

A  golden  florin ;  then  withdrew, 

Hiding  the  paper  in  her  breast ; 

And  homeward  through  the  darkness  went. 


38  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

Comforted,  quieted,  content ; 
She  did  not  walk,  she  rather  flew, 
A  dove  that  settles  to  her  nest, 
When  some  appalling  bird  of  prey 
That  scared  her  has  been  driven  away. 

The  days  went  by,  the  monk  was  gone, 

The  summer  passed,  the  winter  came ; 

Though  seasons  changed,  yet  still  the  same 

The  daily  round  of  life  went  on  ; 

The  daily  round  of  household  care, 

The  narrow  life  of  toil  and  prayer. 

But  in  her  heart  the  cobbler's  dame 

Had  now  a  treasure  beyond  price, 

A  secret  joy  without  a  name, 

The  certainty  of  Paradise. 

Alas,  alas  !     Dust  unto  dust ! 

Before  the  winter  wore  away, 

Her  body  in  the  churchyard  lay, 

Her  patient  soul  was  with  the  Just ! 


THE    COBBLER    OF    HAGENATT.  39 

After  her  death,  among  the  things 
That  even  the  poor  preserve  with  care,  — 
Some  little  trinkets  and  cheap  rings, 
A  locket  with  her  mother's  hair, 
Her  wedding  gown,  the  faded  flowers 
She  wore  upon  her  wedding  day,  — 
Among  these  memories  of  past  hours, 
That  so  much  of  the  heart  reveal, 
Carefully  kept  and  put  away, 
The  Letter  of  Indulgence  lay 
Folded,  with  signature  and  seal. 

Meanwhile  the  Priest,  aggrieved  and  pained, 
Waited  and  wondered  that  no  word 
Of  mass  or  requiem  he  heard, 
As  by  the  Holy  Church  ordained  : 
Then  to  the  Magistrate  complained, 

That  as  this  woman  had  been  dead 

i 

A  week  or  more,  and  no  mass  said, 
It  was  rank  heresy,  or  at  least 


40  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

Contempt  of  Church  ;  thus  said  the  Priest ; 
And  straight  the  cobbler  was  arraigned. 

He  came,  confiding  in  his  cause, 

But  rather  doubtful  of  the  laws. 

The  Justice  from  his  elbow-chair 

Gave  him  a  look  that  seemed  to  say  : 

"  Thou  standest  before  a  Magistrate, 

Therefore  do  not  prevaricate  ! " 

Then  asked  him  in  a  business  way, 

Kindly  but  cold :  "  Is  thy  wife  dead  ? " 

The  cobbler  meekly  bowed  his  head ; 

"  She  is  "  came  struggling  from  his  throat 

Scarce  audibly.     The  Justice  wrote 

The  words  down  in  a  book,  and  then 

Continued,  as  he  raised  his  pen : 

"  She  is ;  and  hath  a  mass  been  said 

For  the  salvation  of  her  soul  ? 

Come,  speak  the  truth  !  confess  the  whole  ! " 

The  cobbler  without  pause  replied : 


THE    COBBLER    OF   HAGENAU.  41 

"  Of  mass  or  prayer  there  was  no  need ; 
For  at  the  moment  when  she  died 
Her  soul  was  with  the  glorified  ! " 
And  from  his  pocket  with  all  speed 
He  drew  the  priestly  title-deed, 
And  prayed  the  Justice  he  would  read. 

The  Justice  read,  amused,  amazed ; 
And  as  he  read  his  mirth  increased  ; 
At  times  his  shaggy  brows  he  raised, 
Now  wondering  at  the  cobbler  gazed, 
"Now  archly  at  the  angry  Priest. 
"  From  all  excesses,  sins,  and  crimes 
Thou  hast  committed  in  past  times 
Thee  I  absolve  !     And  furthermore, 
Purified  from  all  earthly  taints, 
To  the  communion  of  the  Saints 
And  to  the  sacraments  restore ! 
All  stains  of  weakness,  and  all  trace 
Of  shame  and  censure  I  efface  ; 


42  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

Eemit  the  pains  thou  shouldst  endure, 
And  make  thee  innocent  and  pure, 
So  that  in  dying,  unto  thee 
The  gates  of  heaven  shall  open  be  ! 
Though  long  thou  livest,  yet  this  grace 
Until  the  moment  of  thy  death 
Unchangeable  continueth ! " 

Then  said  he  to  the  Priest :  "  I  find 
This  document  is  duly  signed 
Brother  John  Tetzel,  his  own  hand. 
At  all  tribunals  in  the  land 
In  evidence  it  may  be  used ; 
Therefore  acquitted  is  the  accused." 
Then  to  the  cobbler  turned  :  "  My  friend, 
Pray  tell  me,  didst  thou  ever  read 
Eeynard  the  Fox  ? "  —  "  0  yes,  indeed  ! "  - 
"  I  thought  so.     Don't  forget  the  end." 


INTERLUDE. 

"  WHAT  was  the  end  ?    I  am  ashamed 
"Not  to  remember  Keynard's  fate ; 
I  have  not  read  the  book  of  late ; 
Was  he  not  hanged  ?  "  the  Poet  said. 
The  Student  gravely  shook  his  head, 
And  answered :  "  You  exaggerate. 
There  was  a  tournament  proclaimed, 
And  Eeynard  fought  with  Isegrim 
The  Wolf,  and  having  vanquished  him, 
Eose  to  high  honor  in  the  State, 
And  Keeper  of  the  Seals  was  named ! 

At  this  the  gay  Sicilian  laughed  : 

"  Fight  fire  with  fire,  and  craft  with  craft ; 


44  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

Successful  cunning  seems  to  be 
The  moral  of  your  tale/'  said  he. 
"  Mine  had  a  better,  and  the  Jew's 
Had  none  at  all,  that  I  could  see; 
His  aim  was  only  to  amuse." 

Meanwhile  from  out  its  ebon  case 

His  violin  the  Minstrel  drew, 

And  having  tuned  its  strings  anew, 

Now  held  it  close  in  his  embrace, 

And  poising  in  his  outstretched  hand 

The  bow,  Hke  a  magician's  wand, 

He  paused,  and  said,  with  beaming  face ; 

"  Last  night  my  story  was  too  long  ; 

To-day  I  give  you  but  a  song, 

An  old  tradition  of  the  North ; 

But  first,  to  put  you  in  the  mood, 

I  will  a  little  while  prelude, 

And  from  this  instrument  draw  forth 

Something  by  way  of  overture." 


INTERLUDE.  45 

He  played ;  at  first  the  tones  were  pnre 

And  tender  as  a  summer  night, 

The  full  moon  climbing  to  her  height, 

The  sob  and  ripple  of  the  seas, 

The  flapping  of  an  idle  sail ; 

And  then  by  sudden  and  sharp  degrees 

The  multiplied,  wild  harmonies 

Freshened  and  burst  into  a  gale ; 

A  tempest  howling  through  the  dark, 

A  crash  as  of  some  shipwrecked  bark, 

A  loud  and  melancholy  wail. 


Such  was  the  prelude  to  the  tale 
Told  by  the  Minstrel ;  and  at  times 
He  paused  amid  its  varying  rhymes, 
And  at  each  pause  again  broke  in 
The  music  of  his  violin, 
With  tones  of  sweetness  or  of  fear, 
Movements  of  trouble  or  of  calm, 


' 


46  TALES    OF    A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

Creating  their  own  atmosphere ; 
As  sitting  in  a  church  we  hear 
Between  the  verses  of  the  psalm 
The  organ  playing  soft  and  clear, 
Or  thundering  on  the  startled  ear. 


THE   MUSICIAN'S   TALE. 

THE   BALLAD    OF    CARMILHA.N. 
I. 

AT  Stralsund,  by  the  Baltic  Sea, 

Within  the  sandy  bar, 
At  sunset  of  a  summer's  day, 
Eeady  for  sea,  at  anchor  lay 

The  good  ship  Valdeinar. 

The  sunbeams  danced  upon  the  waves, 

And  played  along  her  side ; 
And  through  the  cabin  windows  streamed 
In  ripples  of  golden  light,  that  seemed 

The  ripple  of  the  tide. 

There  sat  the  captain  with  his  friends, 
Old  skippers  brown  and  hale, 


48  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

Who  smoked  and  grumbled  o'er  their  grog, 
And  talked  of  iceberg  and  of  fog, 
Of  calm  and  storm  and  gale. 

And  one  was  spinning  a  sailor's  yarn 

About  Klaboterman, 
The  Kobold  of  the  sea ;  a  sprite 
Invisible  to  mortal  sight, 

Who  o'er  the  rigging  ran. 

Sometimes  he  hammered  in  the  hold, 

Sometimes  upon  the  mast, 
Sometimes  abeam,  sometimes  abaft, 
Or  at  the  bows  he  sang  and  laughed, 

And  made  all  tight  and  fast. 

He  helped  the  sailors  at  their  work, 

And  toiled  with  jovial  din ; 
He  helped  them  hoist  and  reef  the  sails, 
He  helped  them  stow  the  casks  and  bales, 

And  heave  the  anchor  in. 


THE   BALLAD    OF   CARMILHAN.  49 

But  woe  unto  the  lazy  louts, 

The  idlers  of  the  crew ; 
Them  to  torment  was  his  delight, 
And  worry  them  by  day  and  night, 

And  pinch  them  black  and  blue. 

And  woe  to  him  whose  mortal  eyes 

Klaboterman  behold. 
It  is  a  certain  sign  of  death  !  — 
The  cabin-boy  here  held  his  breath, 

He  felt  his  blood  run  cold. 


50  TALES    OF   A   WAYSIDE   INN. 


II. 

The  jolly  skipper  paused  awhile, 

And  then  again  began ; 
"  There  is  a  Spectre  Ship/'  quoth  he, 
"  A  Ship  of  the  Dead  that  sails  the  sea, 

And  is  called  the  Carmilhan. 

"  A  ghostly  ship,  with  a  ghostly  crew, 

In  tempests  she  appears ; 
And  before  the  gale,  or  against  the  gale, 
She  sails  without  a  rag  of  sail, 

Without  a  helmsman  steers. 

"  She  haunts  the  Atlantic  north  and  south, 

But  mostly  the  mid-sea, 
Where  three  great  rocks  rise  bleak  and  bare 
Like  furnace-chimneys  in  the  air, 

And  are  called  the  Chimneys  Three. 


THE   BALLAD    OF    CAEMILHAN.  51 

"  And  ill  betide  the  luckless  ship 

That  meets  the  Carmilhan  ; 
Over  her  decks  the  seas  will  leap, 
She  must  go  down  into  the  deep, 

And  perish  mouse  and  man." 

The  captain  of  the  Valdemar 

Laughed  loud  with  merry  heart. 
"  I  should  like  to  see  this  ship,"  said  he  ; 
"  I  should  like  to  find  these  Chimneys  Three, 

That  are  marked  down  in  the  chart. 

"  I  have  sailed  right  over  the  spot/'  he  said, 

"  With  a  good  stiff  breeze  behind, 
When  the  sea  was  blue,  and  the  sky  was  clear,  — 
You  can  follow  my  course  by  these  pinholes 

here,  — 
And  never  a  rock  could  find." 

And  then  he  swore  a  dreadful  oath, 
He  swore  by  the  Kingdoms  Three, 


52  TALES    OF    A   WAYSIDE    INN. 

That,  should  he  meet  the  Carmilhan, 
He  would  run  her  down,  although  he  ran 
Eight  into  Eternity !      N 

All  this,  while  passing  to  and  fro, 

The  cabin-boy  had  heard ; 
He  lingered  at  the  door  to  hear, 
And  drank  in  all  with  greedy  ear, 

And  pondered  every  word. 

.  He  was  a  simple  country  lad, 

But  of  a  roving  mind. 
"  0,  it  must  be  like  heaven,"  thought  he, 
"  Those  far-off  foreign  lands  to  see, 

And  fortune  seek  and  find  ! " 

But  in  the  fo'castle,  when  he  heard 

The  mariners  blaspheme, 
He  thought  of  home,  he  thought  of  God, 
And  his  mother  under  the  churchyard  sod, 

And  wished  it  were  a  dream. 


THE   BALLAD    OF   CAKMILHAN.  53 

One  friend  on  board  that  ship  had  he ; 

'T  was  the  Klaboterman, 
Who  saw  the  Bible  in  his  chest, 
And  made  a  sign  upon  his  breast, 

All  evil  things  to  ban. 


54  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE   INN. 


III. 

The  cabin  windows  have  grown  blank 

As  eyeballs  of  the  dead ; 
No  more  the  glancing  sunbeams  burn 
On  the  gilt  letters  of  the  stern, 

But  on  the  figure-head ; 

On  Valdemar  Victorious, 

Who  looketh  with  disdain 
To  see  his  image  in  the  tide 
Dismembered  float  from  side  to  side, 
And  reunite  again. 

"  It  is  the  wind,"  those  skippers  said, 

"  That  swings  the  vessel  so ; 
It  is  the  wind ;  it  freshens  fast, 
?T  is  time  to  say  farewell  at  last, 
'T  is  time  for  us  to  go." 


THE   BALLAD    OF    CARMILHAN.  55 

They  shook  the  captain  by  the  hand, 

"  Good  luck !  good  luck !  "  they  cried  ; 
Each  face  was  like  the  setting  sun, 
As,  broad  and  red,  they  one  by  one 
Went  o'er  the  vessel's  side. 

The  sun  went  down,  the  full  moon  rose, 

Serene  o'er  field  and  flood ; 
And  all  the  winding  creeks  and  bays 
And  broad  sea-meadows  seemed  ablaze, 

The  sky  was  red  as  blood. 

The  southwest  wind  blew  fresh  and  fair, 

As  fair  as  wind  could  be  ; 
Bound  for  Odessa,  o'er  the  bar, 
With  all  sail  set,  the  Valdemar 

Went  proudly  out  to  sea. 

The  lovely  moon  climbs  up  the  sky 
As  one  who  walks  in  dreams ; 


56  TALES    OF  A   WAYSIDE   INN. 

A  tower  of  marble  in  her  light, 
A  wall  of  black,  a  wall  of  white, 
The  stately  vessel  seems. 

Low  down  upon  the  sandy  coast 

The  lights  begin  to  burn ; 
And  now,  uplifted  high  in  air, 
They  kindle  with  a  fiercer  glare, 
And  now  drop  far  astern. 

The  dawn  appears,  the  land  is  gone, 

The  sea  is  all  around ; 
Then  on  each  hand  low  hills  of  sand 
Emerge  and  form  another  land ; 

She  steereth  through  the  Sound. 

Through  Kattegat  and  Skager-rack 

She  flitteth  like  a  ghost ; 
By  day  and  night,  by  night  and  day, 
She  bounds,  she  flies  upon  her  way 

Along  the  English  coast. 


THE   BALLAD    OF   CARMILHAN.  57 

Cape  Finisterre  is  drawing  near, 

Cape  Finisterre  is  past ; 
Into  the  open  ocean  stream 
She  floats,  the  vision  of  a  dream 

Too  beautiful  to  last. 

Suns  rise  and  set,  and  rise,  and  yet 

There  is  no  land  in  sight ; 
The  liquid  planets  overhead 
Burn  brighter  now  the  moon  is  dead, 

And  longer  stays  the  night. 


58  TALES    OP  A   WAYSIDE   INN. 


IV. 

And  now  along  the  horizon's  edge 

Mountains  of  cloud  uprose, 
Black  as  with  forests  underneath, 
Above  their  sharp  and  jagged  teeth 

Were  white  as  drifted  snows. 

Unseen  behind  them  sank  the  sun, 

But  flushed  each  snowy  peak 
A  little  while  with  rosy  light 
That  faded  slowly  from  the  sight 

As  blushes  from  the  cheek. 

Black  grew  the  sky,  —  all  black,  all  black ; 

The  clouds  were  everywhere ; 
There  was  a  feeling  of  suspense 
In  nature,  a  mysterious  sense 

Of  terror  in  the  air. 


THE    BALLAD    OF    CARMILHAN.  59 

And  all  on  board  the  Valdemar 

Was  still  as  still  could  be  ; 
Save  when  the  dismal  ship-bell  tolled, 
As  ever  and  anon  she  rolled, 

And  lurched  into  the  sea. 

The  captain  up  and  down  the  deck 

Went  striding  to  and  fro ; 
Now  watched  the  compass  at  the  wheel, 
Now  lifted  up  his  hand  to  feel 

Which  way  the  wind  might  blow. 

And  now  he  looked  up  at  the  sails, 

And  now  upon  the  deep  ; 
In  every  fibre  of  his  frame 
He  felt  the  storm  before  it  came, 

He  had  no  thought  of  sleep. 

Eight  bells  !  and  suddenly  abaft, 
With  a  great  rush  of  rain, 


60  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

Making  the  ocean  white  with  spume, 
In  darkness  like  the  day  of  doom, 
On  came  the  hurricane. 

The  lightning  flashed  from  cloud  to  cloud, 

And  rent  the  sky  in  two  ; 
A  jagged  flame,  a  single  jet 
Of  white  fire,  like  a  bayonet, 

That  pierced  the  eyeballs  through. 

Then  all  around  was  dark  again,  . 

And  blacker  than  before  ; 
But  in  that  single  flash  of  light 
He  had  beheld  a  fearful  sight, 

And  thought  of  the  oath  he  swore. 

For  right  ahead  lay  the  Ship  of  the  Dead, 

The  ghostly  Carmilhan ! 
Her  masts  were  stripped,  her  yards  were  bare, 
And  on  her  bowsprit,  poised  in  air, 

Sat  the  Klaboterman. 


THE    BALLAD    OF    CARMILHAN.  61 

Her  crew  of  ghosts  was  all  on  deck 

Or  clambering  up  the  shrouds ; 
The  boatswain's  whistle,  the  captain's  hail, 
Were  like  the  piping  of  the  gale, 
And  thunder  in  the  clouds. 

And  close  behind  the  Carmilhan 

There  rose  up  from  the  sea, 
As  from  a  foundered  ship  of  stone, 
Three  bare  and  splintered  masts  alone : 

They  were  the  Chimneys  Three  ! 

And  onward  dashed  the  Valdemar 

And  leaped  into  the  dark ; 
A  denser  mist,  a  colder  blast, 
A  little  shudder,  and  she  had  passed 

Eight  through  the  Phantom  Bark. 

She  cleft  in  twain  the  shadowy  hulk, 
But  cleft  it  unaware  ; 


62  TALES    OF   A   WAYSIDE   INN. 

As  when,  careering  to  her  nest, 
The  sea-gull  severs  with  her  breast 
The  unresisting  air. 

Again  the  lightning  flashed ;  again 

They  saw  the  Carmilhan, 
Whole  as  before  in  hull  and  spar ; 
But  now  on  board  of  the  Valdemar 

Stood  the  Klaboterman. 

And  they  all  knew  their  doom  was  sealed  ; 

They  knew  that  death  was  near ; 
Some  prayed  who  never  prayed  before, 
And  some  they  wept,  and  some  they  swore, 

And  some  were  mute  with  fear. 

Then  suddenly  there  came  a  shock, 

And  louder  than  wind  or  sea 
A  cry  burst  from  the  crew  on  deck, 
As  she  dashed  and  crashed,  a  hopeless  wreck, 

Upon  the  Chimneys  Three. 


THE   BALLAD    OF    CARMILHAN.  63 

The  storm  and  night  were  passed,  the  light 

To  streak  the  east  began ; 
The  cabin-boy,  picked  up  at  sea, 
Survived  the  wreck,  and  only  he, 

To  tell  of  the  Carmilhan. 


INTERLUDE. 

WHEN  the  long  murmur  of  applause 

That  greeted  the  Musician's  lay 

Had  slowly  buzzed  itself  away, 

And  the  long  talk  of  Spectre  Ships 

That  followed  died  upon  their  lips 

And  came  unto  a  natural  pause, 

"  These  tales  you  tell  are  one  and  all 

Of  the  Old  World/'  the  Poet  said, 

"  Flowers  gathered  from  a  crumbling  wall, 

Dead  leaves  that  rustle  as  they  fall ; 

Let  me  present  you  in  their  stead 

Something  of  our  JSTew  England  earth, 

A  tale  which,  though  of  no  great  worth, 

Has  still  this  merit,  that  it  yields 


INTERLUDE. 


A  certain  freshness  of  the  fields, 

A  sweetness  as  of  home-made  bread." 


The  student  answered  :  "  Be  discreet ; 
For  if  the  flour  be  fresh  and  sound, 
And  if  the  bread  be  light  and  sweet, 
Who  careth  in  what  mill 't  was  ground, 
Or  of  what  oven  felt  the  heat, 
Unless,  as  old  Cervantes  said, 
You  are  looking  after  better  bread 
Than  any  that  is  made  of  wheat  ? 
You  know  that  people  nowadays 
To  what  is  old  give  little  praise ; 
All  must  be  new  in  prose  and  verse  : 
They  want  hot  bread,  or  something  worse, 
Fresh  every  morning,  and  half  baked ; 
The  wholesome  bread  of  yesterday, 
Too  stale  for  them,  is  thrown  away, 
Nor  is  their  thirst  with  water  slaked." 

5 


66  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

As  oft  we  see  the  sky  in  May 
Threaten  to  rain,  and  yet  not  rain, 
The  Poet's  face,  before  so  gay, 
Was  clouded  with  a  look  of  pain, 
But  suddenly  brightened  up  again  ; 
And  without  further  let  or  stay 
He  told  his  tale  of  yesterday. 


THE   POET'S   TALE. 

LADY  WENTWORTH. 

ONE  hundred  years  ago,  and  something  more, 
In  Queen  Street,  Portsmouth,  at  her  tavern  door, 
Neat  as  a  pin,  and  blooming  as  a  rose, 
Stood  Mistress  Stavers  in  her  furbelows, 
Just  as  her  cuckoo-clock  was  striking  nine. 
Above  her  head,  resplendent  on  the  sign, 
The  portrait  of  the  Earl  of  Halifax, 
In  scarlet  coat  and  periwig  of  flax, 
Surveyed  at  leisure  all  her  varied  charms, 
Her  cap,  her  bodice,  her  white  folded  arms, 
And  half  resolved,  though  he  was  past  his  prime, 
And  rather  damaged  by  the  lapse  of  time, 
To  fall  down  at  her  feet,  and  to  declare 
The  passion  that  had  driven  him  to  despair. 


68  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE   INN. 

For  from  his  lofty  station  he  had  seen 
Stavers,  her  husband,  dressed  in  bottle-green, 
Drive  his  new  Flying  Stage-coach,  four  in  hand, 
Down  the  long  lane,  and  out  into  the  land, 
And  knew  that  he  was  far  upon  the  way 
To  Ipswich  and  to  Boston  on  the  Bay ! 

Just  then  the  meditations  of  the  Earl 
Were  interrupted  by  a  little  girl, 
Barefooted,  ragged,  with  neglected  hair, 
Eyes  full  of  laughter,  neck  and  shoulders  bare, 
A  thin  slip  of  a  girl,  like  a  new  moon, 
Sure  to  be  rounded  into  beauty  soon, 
A  creature  men  would  worship  and  adore, 
Though  now  in  mean  habiliments  she  bore 
A  pail  of  water,  dripping,  through  the  street, 
And  bathing,  as  she  went,  her  naked  feet. 

It  was  a  pretty  picture,  full  of  grace,  — 
The  slender  form,  the  delicate,  thin  face ; 


LADY   WENTWORTH.  69 

The  swaying  motion,  as  she  hurried  by ; 
The  shining  feet,  the  laughter  in  her  eye, 
That  o'er  her  face  in  ripples  gleamed  and  glanced, 
As  in  her  pail  the  shifting  sunbeam  danced : 
And  with  uncommon  feelings  of  delight 
The  Earl  of  Halifax  beheld  the  sight. 
Not  so  Dame  Stavers,  for  he  heard  her  say 
These  words,  or  thought  he  did,  as  plain  as  day : 
"  0  Martha  Hilton !     Fie !  how  dare  you  go 
About  the  town  half  dressed,  and  looking  so  ! " 
At  which  the  gypsy  laughed,  and  straight  replied : 
"No. matter  how  I  look;  I  yet  shall  ride 
In  my  own  chariot,  ma'am."     And  on  the  child 
The  Earl  of  Halifax  benignly  smiled, 
As  with  her  heavy  burden  she  passed  on, 
Looked  back,  then  turned  the  corner,  and  was 
gone. 

What  next,  upon  that  memorable  day, 
Arrested  his  attention  was  a  gay 


70  TALES    OF   A   WAYSIDE   INN. 

And  brilliant  equipage,  that  flashed  and  spun, 
The  silver  harness  glittering  in  the  sun, 
Outriders  with  red  jackets,  lithe  and  lank, 
Pounding  the  saddles  as  they  rose  and  sank, 
While  all  alone  within  the  chariot  sat 
A  portly  person  with  three-cornered  hat, 
A  crimson  velvet  coat,  head  high  in  air, 
Gold-headed  cane,  and  nicely  powdered  hair, 
And  diamond  buckles  sparkling  at  his  knees, 
Dignified,  stately,  florid,  much  at  ease. 
Onward  the  pageant  swept,  and  as  it  passed, 
Fair  Mistress  Stavers  courtesied  low  and  fast ; 
For  this  was  Governor  Wentworth,  driving  down 
To  Little  Harbor,  just  beyond  the  town, 
Where  his  Great  House  stood  looking  out  to  sea, 
A  goodly  place,  where  it  was  good  to  be. 

/ 

It  was  a  pleasant  mansion,  an  abode 
Near  and  yet  hidden  from  the  great  highroad, 
Sequestered  among  trees,  a  noble  pile, 


LADY   WENTWORTH.  71 

Baronial  and  colonial  in  its  style ; 
Gables  and  dormer-windows  everywhere, 
And  stacks  of  chimneys  rising  high  in  air,  — 
Pandsean  pipes,  on  which  all  winds  that  blew 
Made  mournful  music  the  whole  winter  through. 
Within,  unwonted  splendors  met  the  eye, 
Panels,  and  floors  of  oak,  and  tapestry ; 
Carved  chimney-pieces,  where  on  brazen  dogs 
Ptevelled  and  roared  the  Christmas  fires  of  logs ; 
Doors  opening  into  darkness  unawares, 
Mysterious  passages,  and  flights  of  stairs ; 
And  on  the  walls,  in  heavy  gilded  frames, 
The  ancestral  Wentworths  with  Old-Scripture 
names. 

Such  was  the  mansion  where  the  great  man 

dwelt, 

A  widower  and  childless ;  and  he  felt 
The  loneliness,  the  uncongenial  gloom, 
That  like  a  presence  haunted  every  room ; 


72  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

For  though  not  given  to  weakness,  he  could  feel 
The  pain  of  wounds,  that  ache  because  they  heal. 

The  years  came  and  the  years  went,  —  seven  in 

all, 

And  passed  in  cloud  and  sunshine  o'er  the  Hall ; 
The  dawns  their  splendor  through  its  chambers 

shed, 

The  sunsets  flushed  its  western  windows  red  ; 
The  snow  was  on  its  roofs,  the  wind,  the  rain ; 
Its  woodlands  were  in  leaf  and  bare  again ; 
Moons  waxed  and  waned,  the  lilacs  bloomed  and 

died, 

In  the  broad  river  ebbed  and  flowed  the  tide, 
Ships  went  to  sea,  and  ships  came  home  from  sea, 
And  the  slow  years  sailed  by  and  ceased  to  be. 

And  all  these  years  had  Martha  Hilton  served 
In  the  Great  House,  not  wholly  unobserved : 
'By  day,  by  night,  the  silver  crescent  grew, 


LADY   WENTWORTH.  73 

Though  hidden  by  clouds,  her  light  still  shining 

through ;  J* 

A  maid  of  all  work,  whether  coarse  or  fine, 
A  servant  who  made  service  seem  divine ! 
Through  her  each  room  was  fair  to  look  upon  ; 
The  mirrors  glistened,  and  the  brasses  shone, 
The  very  knocker  on  the  outer  door, 
If  she  but  passed,  was  brighter  than  before. 

And  now  the  ceaseless  turning  of  the  mill 
Of  Time,  that  never  for  an  hour  stands  still, 
Ground  out  the  Governor's  sixtieth  birthday, 
And  powdered  his  brown  hair  with  silver-gray. 
The  robin,  the  forerunner  of  the  spring, 
The  bluebird  with  his  jocund  carolling, 
The  restless  swallows  building  in  the  eaves, 
The  golden  buttercups,  the  grass,  the  leaves, 
The  lilacs  tossing  in  the  winds  of  May, 
All  welcomed  this  majestic  holiday ! 
He  gave  a  splendid  banquet,  served  on  plate, 


74  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

Such  as  became  the  Governor  of  the  State, 
Who  represented  England  and  the  King, 
And  was  magnificent  in  everything. 
He  had  invited  all  his  friends  and  peers,  — 
The  Pepperels,  the  Langdons,  and  the  Lears, 
The  Sparhawks,  the  Penhallows,  and  the  rest ; 
For  why  repeat  the  name  of  every  guest  ? 
But  I  must  mention  one,  in  bands  and  gown, 
The  rector  there,  the  Eeverend  Arthur  Brown 
Of  the  Established  Church ;  with  smiling  face 
He  sat  beside  the  Governor  and  said  grace  ; 
And  then  the  feast  went  on,  as  others  do, 
But  ended  as  none  other,  or  but  few. 

When  they  had  drunk  the  King,  with  many  a 

cheer, 

The  Governor  whispered  in  a  servant's  ear, 
Who  disappeared,  and  presently  there  stood 
Within  the  room,  in  perfect  womanhood, 
A  maiden,  modest  and  yet  self-possessed, 


LADY   WENTWORTH.  75 

Youthful  and  beautiful,  and  simply  dressed. 
Can  this  be  Martha  Hilton  ?     It  must  be  ! 
Yes,  Martha  Hilton,  and  no  other  she ! 
Dowered  with  the  beauty  of  her  twenty  years, 
How  ladylike,  how  queenlike  she  appears  ; 
The  pale,  thin  crescent  of  the  days  gone  by 
Is  Dian  now  in  all  her  majesty ! 
Yet  scarce  a  guest  perceived  that  she  was  there, 
Until  the  Governor,  rising  from  his  chair, 
Played  slightly  with  his  ruffles,  then  looked  down, 
And  said  unto  the  Beverend  Arthur  Brown : 
"  This  is  my  birthday ;  it  shall  likewise  be 
My  wedding-day ;  and  you  shall  marry  rne  ! " 

The  listening  guests  were  greatly  mystified, 
None  more  so  than  the  rector,  who  replied : 
"  Marry  you  ?     Yes,  that  were  a  pleasant  task, 
Your  Excellency ;  but  to  whom  ?  I  ask." 
The  Governor  answered :  "  To  this  lady  here  " ; 
And  beckoned  Martha  Hilton  to  draw  near. 


76  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

She  came  and  stood,  all  blushes,  at  his  side. 
The   rector  paused.     The   impatient   Governor 

cried : 

"  This  is  the  lady ;  do  you  hesitate  ? 
Then  I  command  you  as  Chief  Magistrate." 
The  rector  read  the  service  loud  and  clear : 
"  Dearly  beloved,  we  are  gathered  here," 
And  so  on  to  the  end.     At  his  command 
On  the  fourth  finger  of  her  fair  left  hand 
The  Governor  placed  the  ring ;  and  that  was  all : 
Martha  was  Lady  Wentworth  of  the  Hall ! 


INTERLUDE. 

WELL  pleased  the  audience  heard  the  tale. 

The  Theologian  said  :  "  Indeed, 

To  praise  you  there  is  little  need; 

One  almost  hears  the  farmer's  flail 

Thresh  out  your  wheat,  nor  does  there  fail 

A  certain  freshness,  as  you  said, 

And  sweetness  as  of  home-made  bread. 

But  not  less  sweet  and  not  less  fresh 

Are  many  legends  that  I  know, 

Writ  by  the  monks  of  long-ago, 

Who  loved  to  mortify  the  flesh, 

So  that  the  soul  might  purer  grow, 

And  rise  to  a  diviner  state ; 

And  one  of  these  —  perhaps  of  all 

Most  beautiful  —  I  now  recall, 


78  TALES    OF   A   WAYSIDE    INN. 

And  with  permission  will  narrate ; 

Hoping  thereby  to  make  amends 

For  that  grim  tragedy  of  mine, 

As  strong  and  black  as  Spanish  wine, 

I  told  last  night,  and  wish  almost 

It  had  remained  untold,  my  friends  ; 

Tor  Torquemada's  awful  ghost 

Came  to  me  in  the  dreams  I  dreamed, 

And  in  the  darkness  glared  and  gleamed 

Like  a  great  lighthouse  on  the  coast." 

The  Student  laughing  said  :  "  Far  more 
Like  to  some  dismal  fire  of  bale 
Flaring  portentous  on  a  hill ; 
Or  torches  lighted  on  a  shore 
By  wreckers  in  a  midnight  gale. 
No  matter ;  be  it  as  you  will, 
Only  go  forward  with  your  tale." 


THE  THEOLOGIAN'S  TALE. 

THE    LEGEND    BEAUTIFUL. 

"  HADST  thou  stayed,  I  must  have  fled ! " 
That  is  what  the  Vision  said. 

In  his  chamber  all  alone, 
Kneeling  on  the  floor  of  stone, 
Prayed  the  Monk  in  deep  contrition 
For  his  sins  of  indecision, 
Prayed  for  greater  self-denial 
In  temptation  and  in  trial ; 
It  was  noonday  by  the  dial, 
And  the  Monk  was  all  alone. 

Suddenly,  as  if  it  lightened, 

An  unwonted  splendor  brightened 


80  TALES    OF   A   WAYSIDE    INN. 

All  within  him  and  without  him 
In  that  narrow  cell  of  stone ; 
And  he  saw  the  Blessed  Vision 
Of  our  Lord,  with  light  Elysian 
Like  a  vesture  wrapped  about  him, 
Like  a  garment  round  him  thrown. 

Not  as  crucified  and  slain, 
Not  in  agonies  of  pain, 
Not  with  bleeding  hands  and  feet, 
Did  the  Monk  his  Master  see ; 
But  as  in  the  village  street, 
In  the  house  or  harvest-field, 
Halt  and  lame  and  blind  he  healed, 
When  he  walked  in  Galilee. 

In  an  attitude  imploring, 
Hands  upon  his  bosom  crossed, 
Wondering,  worshipping,  adoring, 
Knelt  the  Monk  in  rapture  lost. 


THE    LEGEND    BEAUTIFUL.  81 

Lord,  lie  thought,  in  heaven  that  reignest, 
Who  am  I,  that  thus  thou  deignest 
To  reveal  thyself  to  me  ? 
Who  am  I,  that  from  the  centre 
Of  thy  glory  thou  shouldst  enter 
This  poor  cell,  my  guest  to  be  ? 

Then  amid  his  exaltation, 
Loud  the  convent  bell  appalling, 
From  its  belfry  calling,  calling, 
Rang  through  court  and  corridor 
With  persistent  iteration 
He  had  never  heard  before. 
It  was  now  the  appointed  hour 
When  alike  in  shine  or  shower, 
Winter's  cold  or  summer's  heat, 
To  the  convent  portals  came 
All  the  blind  and  halt  and  lame,     \ 
All  the  beggars  of  the  street, 
For  their  daily  dole  of  food 


82  TALES    OF  A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

Dealt  them  by  the  brotherhood  ; 
And  their  almoner  was  he 
Who  upon  his  bended  knee, 
Eapt  in  silent  ecstasy 
Of  divinest  self-surrender, 
Saw  the  Vision  and  the  Splendor. 


Deep  distress  and  hesitation 
Mingled  with  his  adoration ; 
Should  he  go,  or  should  he  stay  ? 
Should  he  leave  the  poor  to  wait 
Hungry  at  the  convent  gate, 
Till  the  Vision  passed  away  ? 
Should  he  slight  his  radiant  guest, 
Slight  this  visitant  celestial, 
For  a  crowd  of  ragged,  bestial 
Beggars  at  the  convent  gate  ? 
Would  the  Vision  there  remain  ? 
Would  the  Vision  come  again  ? 


THE    LEGEND    BEAUTIFUL.  83 

Then  a  voice  within  his  breast 
Whispered,  audible  and  clear 
As  if  to  the  outward  ear : 
"  Do  thy  duty  ;  that  is  best ; 
Leave  unto  thy  Lord  the  rest ! " 

Straightway  to  his  feet  he  started, 
And  with  longing  look  intent 
On  the  Blessed  Vision  bent, 
Slowly  from  his  cell  departed, 
Slowly  on  his  errand  went. 

At  the  gate  the  poor  were  waiting, 
Looking  through  the  iron  grating, 
With  that  terror  in  the  eye 
That  is  only  seen  in  those 
Who  amid  their  wants  and  woes 
Hear  the  sound  of  doors  that  close, 
And  of  feet  that  pass  them  by ; 
Grown  familiar  with  disfavor, 


84  TALES    OF   A   WAYSIDE    INN. 

Grown  familiar  with  the  savor 
Of  the  bread  by  which  men  die ! 
But  to-day,  they  knew  not  why, 
Like  the  gate  of  Paradise 
Seemed  the  convent  gate  to  rise, 
Like  a  sacrament  divine 
Seemed  to  them  the  bread  and  wine. 
In  his  heart  the  Monk  was  praying, 
Thinking  of  the  homeless  poor, 
What  they  suffer  and  endure  ; 
What  we  see  not,  what  we  see ; 
And  the  inward  voice  was  saying: 
"  Whatsoever  thing  thou  doest 
To  the  least  of  mine  and  lowest, 
That  thou  doest  unto  me  1 " 

Unto  me  !  but  had  the  Vision 
Come  to  him  in  beggar's  clothing, 
Come  a  mendicant  imploring, 
Would  he  then  have  knelt  adoring, 


THE    LEGEND    BEAUTIFUL.  85 

Or  have  listened  with  derision, 

And  have  turned  away  with  loathing  ? 

Thus  his  conscience  put  the  question, 
Full  of  troublesome  suggestion, 
As  at  length,  with  hurried  pace, 
Towards  his  cell  he  turned  his  face, 
And  beheld  the  convent  bright 
"With  a  supernatural  light, 
Like  a  luminous  cloud  expanding 
Over  floor  and  wall  and  ceiling. 

But  he  paused  with  awe-struck  feeling 
At  the  threshold  of  his  door, 
For  the  Vision  still  was  standing 
As  he  left  it  there  before, 
"When  the  convent  bell  appalling, 
From  its  belfry  calling,  calling, 
Summoned  him  to  feed  the  poor. 
Through  the  long  hour  intervening 


86  TALES    OF   A   WAYSIDE   INN. 

It  had  waited  his  return, 

And  he  felt  his  bosom  burn, 

Comprehending  all  the  meaning, 

When  the  Blessed  Vision  said, 

"  Hadst  thou  stayed,  I  must  have  fled  ! " 


INTERLUDE. 

ALL  praised  the  Legend  more  or  less ; 

Some  liked  the  moral,  some  the  verse  ; 

Some  thought  it  better,  and  some  worse 

Than  other  legends  of  the  past ; 

Until,  with  ill-concealed  distress 

At  all  their  cavilling,  at  last 

The  Theologian  gravely  said : 

"  The  Spanish  proverb,  then,  is  right ; 

Consult  your  friends  on  what  you  do, 

And  one  will  say  that  it  is  white, 

And  others  say  that  it  is  red." 

And  "  Amen ! "  quoth  the  Spanish  Jew. 

"  Six  stories  told !    We  must  have  seven, 
A  cluster  like  the  Pleiades, 


88  TALES    OF   A   WAYSIDE   INN. 

And  lo  !  it  happens,  as  with  these, 
That  one  is  missing  from  our  heaven. 
Where  is  the  Landlord  ?     Bring  him  here ; 
Let  the  Lost  Pleiad  reappear." 

Thus  the  Sicilian  cried,  and  went 
Forthwith  to  seek  his  missing  star, 
But  did  not  find  him  in  the  bar, 
A  place  that  landlords  most  frequent, 
Nor  yet  beside  the  kitchen  fire, 
Nor  up  the  stairs,  nor  in  the  hall ; 
It  was  in  vain  to  ask  or  call, 
There  were  no  tidings  of  the  Squire. 

So  he  came  back  with  downcast  head, 
Exclaiming :  "  Well,  our  bashful  host 
Hath  surely  given  up  the  ghost. 
Another  proverb  says  the  dead 
Can  tell  no  tales  ;  and  that  is  true. 
It  follows,  then,  that  one  of  you 


INTERLUDE.  OiJ 

Must  tell  a  story  in  his  stead. 
You  must/'  he  to  the  Student  said, 
"  Who  know  so  many  of  the  best, 
And  tell  them  better  than  the  rest." 

Straight,  by  these  nattering  words  beguiled, 
The  Student,  happy  as  a  child 
When  he  is  called  a  little  man, 
Assumed  the  double  task  imposed, 
And  without  more  ado  unclosed 
His  smiling  lips,  and  thus  began. 


THE   STUDENT'S   SECOND   TALE. 

THE   BARON    OP   ST.    CASTINE. 

BARON  CASTINE  of  St.  Castine 

Has  left  his  chateau  in  the  Pyrenees, 

And  sailed  across  the  western  seas. 

When  he  went  away  from  his  fair  demesne 

The  birds  were  building,  the  woods  were  green ; 

And  now  the  winds  of  winter  blow 

Eound  the  turrets  of  the  old  chateau, 

The  birds  are  silent  and  unseen, 

The  leaves  lie  dead  in  the  ravine, 

And  the  Pyrenees  are  white  with  snow. 

His  father,  lonely,  old,  and  gray, 
Sits  by  the  fireside  day  by  day, 
Thinking  ever  one  thought  of  care  ; 


THE   BARON    OF    ST.    CASTINE.  91 

Through,  the  southern  windows,  narrow  and  tall, 

The  sun  shines  into  the  ancient  hall, 

And  makes  a  glory  round  his  hair. 

The  house-dog,  stretched  beneath  his  chair, 

Groans  in  his  sleep  as  if  in  pain, 

Then  wakes,  and  yawns,  and  sleeps  again, 

So  silent  is  it  everywhere,  — 

So  silent  you  can  hear  the  mouse 

Bun  and  rummage  along  the  beams 

Behind  the  wainscot  of  the  wall ; 

And  the  old  man  rouses  from  his  dreams, 

And  wanders  restless  through  the  house, 

As  if  he  heard  strange  voices  call. 

His  footsteps  echo  along  the  floor 
Of  a  distant  passage,  and  pause  awhile  ; 
He  is  standing  by  an  open  door 
Looking  long,  with  a  sad,  sweet  smile, 
Into  the  room  of  his  absent  son. 
There  is  the  bed  on  which  he  lay, 


92  TALES    OF   A   WAYSIDE    INN. 

There  are  the  pictures  bright  and  gay, 
Horses  and  hounds  and  sun-lit  seas ; 
There  are  his  powder-flask  and  gun, 
And  his  hunting-knives  in  shape  of  a  fan ; 
The  chair  by  the  window  where  he  sat, 
With  the  clouded  tiger-skin  for  a  mat, 
Looking  out  on  the  Pyrenees, 
Looking  out  on  Mount  Marbore* 
And  the  Seven  Valleys  of  Lavedan. 
Ah  me  !  he  turns  away  and  sighs ; 
There  is  a  mist  before  his  eyes. 

At  night,  whatever  the  weather  be, 
Wind  or  rain  or  starry  heaven, 
Just  as  the  clock  is  striking  seven, 
Those  who  look  from  the  windows  see 
The  village  Curate,  with  lantern  and  maid, 
Come  through  the  gateway  from  the  park 
And  cross  the  court-yard  damp  and  dark,  — 
A  ring  of  light  in  a  ring  of  shade. 


THE   BARON    OF    ST.    CASTINE.  93 

And  now  at  the  old  man's  side  he  stands, 
His  voice  is  cheery,  his  heart  expands, 
He  gossips  pleasantly,  by  the  blaze 
Of  the  fire  of  fagots,  about  old  days, 
And  Cardinal  Mazarin  and  the  Fronde, 
And  the  Cardinal's  nieces  fair  and  fond, 
And  what  they  did,  and  what  they  said, 
When  they  heard  his  Eminence  was  dead. 

And  after  a  pause  the  old  man  says, 

His  mind  still  coming  back  again 

To  the  one  sad  thought  that  haunts  his  brain, 

"  Are  there  any  tidings  from  over  sea  ? 

Ah,  why  has  that  wild  boy  gone  from  me  ?  " 

And  the  Curate  answers,  looking  down, 

Harmless  and  docile  as  a  lamb, 

"  Young  blood  !  young  blood  !     It  must  so  be  !  " 

And  draws  from  the  pocket  of  his  gown 

A  handkerchief  like  an  oriflamb, 

And  wipes  his  spectacles,  and  they  play 


94:  TALES    OF   A   WAYSIDE   INN. 

Their  little  game  of  lansquenet 

In  silence  for  an  hour  or  so, 

Till  the  clock  at  nine  strikes  loud  and  clear 

From  the  village  lying  asleep  below, 

And  across  the  court-yard,  into  the  dark 

Of  the  winding  pathway  in  the  park, 

Curate  and  lantern  disappear, 

And  darkness  reigns  in  the  old  chateau. 

The  ship  has  come  back  from  over  sea, 
She  has  been  signalled  from  below, 
And  into  the  harbor  of  Bordeaux 
She  sails  with  her  gallant  company. 
But  among  them  is  nowhere  seen 
The  brave  young  Baron  of  St.  Castine  ; 
He  hath  tarried  behind,  I  ween, 
In  the  beautiful  land  of  Acadie ! 

And  the  father  paces  to  and  fro 
Through  the  chambers  of  the  old  chateau, 


THE   BAKON    OF    ST.    CASTINE.  95 

Waiting,  waiting  to  hear  the  hum 

Of  wheels  on  the  road  that  runs  below, 

Of  servants  hurrying  here  and  there, 

The  voice  in  the  court-yard,,  the  step  on  the 

stair, 

Waiting  for  some  one  who  doth  not  come ! 
But  letters  there  are,  which  the  old  man  reads 
To  the  Curate,  when  he  comes  at  night, 
Word  by  word,  as  an  acolyte 
Eepeats  his  prayers  and  tells  his  beads ; 
Letters  full  of  the  rolling  sea, 
Full  of  a  young  man's  joy  to  be 
Abroad  in  the  world,  alone  and  free  ; 
Full  of  adventures  and  wonderful  scenes 
Of  hunting  the  deer  through  forests  vast 
In  the  royal  grant  of  Pierre  du  Gast ; 
Of  nights  in  the  tents  of  the  Tarratines ; 
Of  Madocawando  the  Indian  chief, 
And  his  daughters,  glorious  as  queens, 
And  beautiful  beyond  belief ; 


96  TALES    OF   A   WAYSIDE    INN. 

And  so  soft  the  tones  of  their  native  tongue, 
The  words  are  not  spoken,  they  are  sung  ! 

And  the  Curate  listens,  and  smiling  says  : 

"  Ah  yes,  dear  friend  !  in  our  young  days 

We  should  have  liked  to  hunt  the  deer 

All  day  amid  those  forest  scenes, 

And  to  sleep  in  the  tents  of  the  Tarratines ; 

But  now  it  is  better  sitting  here 

Within  four  walls,  and  without  the  fear 

Of  losing  our  hearts  to  Indian  queens  j 

For  man  is  fire  and  woman  is  tow, 

And  the  Somebody  comes  and  begins  to  blow/ 

Then  a  gleam  of  distrust  and  vague  surmise 

r 

Shines  in  the  father's  gentle  eyes, 
As  firelight  on  a  window-pane 
Glimmers  and  vanishes  again ; 
But  naught  he  answers  ;  he  only  sighs, 
And  for  a  moment  bows  his  head ; 
Then,  as  their  custom  is,  they  play 


THE    BARON    OF    ST.    CASTINE.  97 

Their  little  game  of  lansquenet, 
And  another  day  is  with  the  dead. 

Another  day,  and  many  a  day 

And  many  a  week  and  month  depart. 

When  a  fatal  letter  wings  its  way 

Across  the  sea,  like  a  bird  of  prey, 

And  strikes  and  tears  the  old  man's  heart. 

Lo  !  the  young  Baron  of  St.  Castine, 

Swift  as  the  wind  is,  and  as  wild, 

Has  married  a  dusky  Tarratine, 

Has  married  Madocawando's  child ! 

The  letter  drops  from  the  father's  hand  ; 
Though  the  sinews  of  his  heart  are  wrung, 
He  utters  no  cry,  he  breathes  no  prayer, 
No  malediction  falls  from  his  tongue  ; 
But  his  stately  figure,  erect  and  grand, 
Bends  and  sinks  like  a  column  of  sand 
In  the  whirlwind  of  his  great  despair. 


98  TALES    OP   A   WAYSIDE   INN. 

Dying,  yes,  dying  !     His  latest  breath 
Of  parley  at  the  door  of  death 
Is  a  blessing  on  his  wayward  son. 
Lower  and  lower  on  his  breast 
Sinks  his  gray  head  ;  he  is  at  rest ; 
No  longer  he  waits  for  any  one. 

For  many  a  year  the  old  chateau 
Lies  tenantless  and  desolate ; 
Bank  grasses  in  the  court-yard  grow, 
About  its  gables  caws  the  crow ; 
Only  the  porter  at  the  gate 
Is  left  to  guard  it,  and  to  wait 
The  coming  of  the  rightful  heir ; 
No  other  life  or  sound  is  there  ; 
No  more  the  Curate  comes  at  night, 
No  more  is  seen  the  unsteady  light, 
Threading  the  alleys  of  the  park  ; 
The  windows  of  the  hall  are  dark, 
The  chambers  dreary,  cold,  and  bare  ! 


THE    BARON    OF    ST.    CASTINE.  99 

At  length,  at  last,  when  the  winter  is  past, 
And  birds  are  building,  and  woods  are  green, 
With  flying  skirts  is  the  Curate  seen 
Speeding  along  the  woodland  way, 
Humming  gayly,  "  No  day  is  so  long 
But  it  comes  at  last  to  vesper-song." 
He  stops  at  the  porter's  lodge  to  say 
That  at  last  the  Baron  of  St.  Castine 
Is  coming  home  with  his  Indian  queen, 
Is  coming  without  a  week's  delay ; 
And  all  the  house  must  be  swept  and  clean, 
And  all  things  set  in  good  array  ! 
And  the  solemn  porter  shakes  his  head ; 
And  the  answer  he  makes  is  :  "  Lackaday  ! 
"We  will  see,  as  the  blind  man  said  ! " 

Alert  since  first  the  day  began, 
The  cock  upon  the  village  church 
Looks  northward  from  his  airy  perch, 
As  if  beyond  the  ken  of  man 


100  TALES    OP   A    WAYSIDE    INN. 

To  see  the  ships  come  sailing  on, 
And  pass  the  Isle  of  Oleron, 
And  pass  the  Tower  of  Cordouan. 

In  the  church  below  is  cold  in  clay 

The  heart  that  would  have  leaped  for  joy  — 

0  tender  heart  of  truth  and  trust !  — 

To  see  the  coming  of  that  day ; 

In  the  church  below  the  lips  are  dust, 

Dust  are  the  hands,  and  dust  the  feet, 

That  would  have  been  so  swift  to  meet 

The  coming  of  that  wayward  boy. 

At  night  the  front  of  the  old  chateau 

Is  a  blaze  of  light  above  and  below  ; 

There 's  a  sound  of  wheels  and  hoofs  in  the 

street, 

A  cracking  of  whips,  and  scamper  of  feet, 
Bells  are  ringing,  and  horns  are  blown, 
And  the  Baron  hath  come  again  to  his  own. 


THE    BARON    OF    ST.    CASTINE.  101 

The  Curate  is  waiting  in  the  hall, 

Most  eager  and  alive  of  all 

To  welcome  the  Baron  and  Baroness ; 

But  his  mind  is  full  of  vague  distress, 

For  he  hath  read  in  Jesuit  books 

Of  those  children  of  the  wilderness, 

And  now,  good,  simple  man  !  he  looks 

To  see  a  painted  savage  stride 

Into  the  room,  with  shoulders  bare, 

And  eagle  feathers  in  her  hair, 

And  around  her  a  robe  of  panther's  hide. 

Instead,  he  beholds  with  secret  shame 
A  form  of  beauty  undefined, 
A  loveliness  without  a  name, 
Not  of  degree,  but  more  of  kind ; 
Nor  bold  nor  shy,  nor  short  nor  tall, 
But  a  new  mingling  of  them  all. 
Yes,  beautiful  beyond  belief, 
Transfigured  and  transfused,  he  sees 


102  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE   INN. 

The  lady  of  the  Pyrenees, 

The  daughter  of  the  Indian  chief. 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  her  hair 

The  gold-bronze  color  of  the  skin 

Seems  lighted  by  a  fire  within, 

As  when  a  burst  of  sunlight  shines 

Beneath  a  sombre  grove  of  pines,  — 

A  dusky  splendor  in  the  air. 

The  two  small  hands,  that  now  are  pressed 

In  his,  seem  made  to  be  caressed, 

They  lie  so  warm  and  soft  and  still, 

Like  birds  half  hidden  in  a  nest, 

Trustful,  and  innocent  of  ill. 

And  ah  !  he  cannot  believe  his  ears 

When  her  melodious  voice  he  hears 

Speaking  his  native  Gascon  tongue ; 

The  words  she  utters  seem  to  be 

Part  of  some  poem  of  Goudouli, 

They  are  not  spoken,  they  are  sung ! 

And  the  Baron  smiles,  and  says,  "  You  see, 


THE    BARON    OF    ST.    CASTINE.  103 

I  told  you  but  the  simple  truth  ; 

Ah,  you  may  trust  the  eyes  of  youth ! " 

Down  in  the  village  day  by  day 

The  people  gossip  in  their  way, 

And  stare  to  see  the  Baroness  pass 

On  Sunday  morning  to  early  Mass ; 

And  when  she  kneeleth  down  to  pray, 

They  wonder,  and  whisper  together,  and  say, 

"  Surely  this  is  no  heathen  lass  !  " 

And  in  course  of  time  they  learn  to  bless 

The  Baron  and  the  Baroness. 

And  in  course  of  time  the  Curate  learns 
A  secret  so  dreadful,  that  by  turns 
He  is  ice  and  fire,  he  freezes  and  burns. 
The  Baron  at  confession  hath  said, 
That  though  this  woman  be  his  wife, 
He  hath  wed  her  as  the  Indians  wed, 
He  hath  bought  her  for  a  gun  and  a  knife  ! 


104  TALES    OF    A    WAYSIDE   INN. 

And  the  Curate  replies :  "  0  profligate, 

0  Prodigal  Son  !  return  once  more 

To  the  open  arms  and  the  open  door 

Of  the  Church,  or  ever  it  be  too  late. 

Thank  God,  thy  father  did  not  live 

To  see  what  he  could  not  forgive ; 

On  thee,  so  reckless  and  perverse, 

He  left  his  blessing,  not  his  curse. 

But  the  nearer  the  dawn  the  darker  the  night, 

And  by  going  wrong  all  things  come  right ; 

Things  have  been  mended  that  were  worse, 

And  the  worse,  the  nearer  they  are  to  mend. 

For  the  sake  of  the  living  and  the  dead, 

Thou  shalt  be  wed  as  Christians  wed, 

And  all  things  come  to  a  happy  end." 

0  sun,  that  followest  the  night, 
In  yon  blue  sky,  serene  and  pure, 
And  pourest  thine  impartial  light 
Alike  on  mountain  and  on  moor, 


THE    BARON    OF    ST.    CASTINE.  105 

Pause  for  a  moment  in  thy  course, 
And  bless  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride  ! 
0  Gave,  that  from  thy  hidden  source 
In  yon  mysterious  mountain-side 
Pursuest  thy  wandering  way  alone, 
And  leaping  down  its  steps  of  stone, 
Along  the  meadow-lands  demure 
Stealest  away  to  the  Adour, 
Pause  for  a  moment  in  thy  course 
To  bless  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride  ! 

The  choir  is  singing  the  matin  song, 
The  doors  of  the  church  are  opened  wide, 
The  people  crowd,  and  press,  and  throng 
To  see  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride. 
They  enter  and  pass  along  the  nave  ; 
They  stand  upon  the  father's  grave  ; 
The  bells  are  ringing  soft  and  slow ; 
The  living  above  and  the  dead  below 
Give  their  blessing  on  one  and  twain ; 


106  TALES    OF   A   WAYSIDE   INN. 

The  warm  wind  blows  from  the  hills  of  Spain, 
The  birds  are  building,  the  leaves  are  green, 
And  Baron  Castine  of  St.  Castine 
Hath  come  at  last  to  his  own  again. 


FINALE. 

"  Nunc  plaudite  ! "  the  Student  cried, 

When  he  had  finished  ;  "  now  applaud, 

As  Eoman  actors  used  to  say 

At  the  conclusion  of  a  play  " ; 

And  rose,  and  spread  his  hands  abroad, 

And  smiling  bowed  from  side  to  side, 

As  one  who  bears  the  palm  away. 

And  generous  was  the  applause  and  loud, 
But  less  for  him  than  for  the  sun, 
That  even  as  the  tale  was  done 
Burst  from  its  canopy  of  cloud, 
And  lit  the  landscape  with  the  blaze 
Of  afternoon  on  autumn  days, 


108  TALES    OF   A    WAYSIDE   INN. 

And  filled  the  room  with  light,  and  made 
The  fire  of  logs  a  painted  shade. 

A  sudden  wind  from  out  the  west 
Blew  all  its  trumpets  loud  and  shrill ; 
The  windows  rattled  with  the  blast, 
The  oak-trees  shouted  as  it  passed, 
And  straight,  as  if  by  fear  possessed, 
The  cloud  encampment  on  the  hill 
Broke  up,  and  fluttering  flag  and  tent 
Vanished  into  the  firmament, 
And  down  the  valley  fled  amain 
The  rear  of  the  retreating  rain. 

Only  far  up  in  the  blue  sky 
A  mass  of  clouds,  like  drifted  snow 
Suffused  with  a  faint  Alpine  glow, 
Was  heaped  together,  vast  and  high, 
On  which  a  shattered  rainbow  hung, 
Not  rising  like  the  ruined  arch 


FINALE.  109 

Of  some  aerial  aqueduct, 
But  like  a  roseate  garland  plucked 
From  an  Olympian  god,  and  flung 
Aside  in  his  triumphal  march. 

Like  prisoners  from  their  dungeon  gloom, 
Like  birds  escaping  from  a  snare, 
Like  school-boys  at  the  hour  of  play, 
All  left  at  once  the  pent-up  room, 
And  rushed  into  the  open  air ; 
And  no  more  tales  were  told  that  day. 


BOOK    SECOND. 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS 


JUDAS  MACCABEUS. 


ACT  I. 

The  Citadel  of  Antioclms  at  Jerusalem. 

SCENE  I.    ANTIOCHUS  ;  JASON. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

0  ANTIOCH,  my  Antioch,  my  city  ! 
Queen  of  the  East !  my  solace,  my  delight ! 
The  dowry  of  my  sister  Cleopatra 

When  she  was  wed  to  Ptolemy,  and  now 
Won  back  and  made  more  wonderful  by  me  ! 

1  love  thee,  and  I  long  to  be  once  more 
Among  the  players  and  the  dancing  women 
Within  thy  gates,  and  bathe  in  the  Orontes, 
Thy  river  and  mine.     0  Jason,  my  High-Priest, 
For  I  have  made  thee  so,  and  thou  art  mine, 
Hast  thou  seen  Antioch  the  Beautiful  ? 

8 


114  '    JUDAS   MACCABEUS. 

JASON. 

Never,  my  Lord. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Then  hast  them  never  seen 
The  wonder  of  the  world.     This  city  of  David 
Compared  with  Antioch  is  but  a  village, 
And  its  inhabitants  compared  with  Greeks 
Are  mannerless  boors. 

JASON. 

They  are  barbarians, 
And  mannerless. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

They  must  be  civilized. 

They  must  be  made  to  have  more  gods  than  one ; 
And  goddesses  besides. 

JASON. 

They  shall  have  more. 

ANTIOCIIUS. 

They  must  have  hippodromes,  and  games,  and 
baths, 


JUDAS    MACCABvEUS.  115 

Stage-plays  and  festivals,  and  most  of  all 
The  Dionysia. 

JASON. 

They  shall  have  them  all. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

By  Heracles  !  but  I  should  like  to  see 

These  Hebrews  crowned  with  ivy,  and  arrayed 

In  skins  of  fawns,  with  drums  and  flutes  and 

thyrsi, 

Eevel  and  riot  through  the  solemn  streets 
Of  their  old  town.    Ha,  ha !    It  makes  me  merry 
Only  to  think  of  it !  —  Thou  dost  not  laugh. 

JASON. 

Yea,  I  laugh  inwardly. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

The  new  Greek  leaven 
Works  slowly  in  this  Israelitish  dough  ! 
Have  I  not  sacked  the  Temple,  and  on  the  altar 


116  JUDAS   MACCAB^EUS. 

Set  up  the  statue  of  Olympian  Jove 
To  Hellenize  it  ? 

JASON. 

Thou  hast  done  all  this. 

ANTiocnus. 

As  thou  wast  Joshua  once  and  now  art  Jason, 
And  from  a  Hebrew  hast  become  a  Greek, 
So  shall  this  Hebrew  nation  be  translated, 
Their  very  natures  and  their  names  be  changed, 
And  all  be  Hellenized. 

JASON. 

It  shall  be  done. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Their  manners  and  their  laws  and  way  of  living 
Shall  all  be  Greek.     They  shall  unlearn  their 

language, 

And  learn  the  lovely  speech  of  Antioch. 
Where  hast  thou  been  to-day?     Thou  comest 

late. 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS.  117 

JASON. 

Playing  at  discus  with  the  other  priests 
In  the  Gymnasium. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Thou  hast  done  well. 

There 's  nothing  better  for  you  lazy  priests 
Than  discus-playing  with  the  common  people. 
Now  tell  me,  Jason,  what  these  Hebrews  call  me 
When  they  converse  together  at  their  games. 

JASON. 

Antiochus  Epiphanes,  my  Lord ; 
Antiochus  the  Illustrious. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

0,  not  that ; 

That  is  the  public  cry  ;  I  mean  the  name 
They  give  me  when  they  talk  among  themselves, 
And  think  that  no  one  listens ;  what  is  that  ? 


118  JUDAS   MACCABEUS. 

JASON. 

Antiochus  Epimanes,  my  Lord ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Antiochus  the  Mad  !    Ay,  that  is  it. 

And  who  hath  said  it  ?    Who  hath  set  in  motion 

That  sorry  jest  ? 

JASON. 

The  Seven  Sons  insane 
Of  a  weird  woman,  like  themselves  insane. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

I  like  their  courage,  but  it  shall  not  save  them. 
They  shall  be  made  to  eat  the  flesh  of  swine, 
Or  they  shall  die.    Where  are  they  ? 

JASON. 

In  the  dungeons 
Beneath  this  tower. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

There  let  them  stay  and  starve, 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS.  119 

Till  I  am  ready  to  make  Greeks  of  them, 
After  my  fashion. 

JASON. 

They  shall  stay  and  starve.  — 
My  Lord,  the  Ambassadors  of  Samaria 
Await  thy  pleasure. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Why  not  my  displeasure  ? 
Ambassadors  are  tedious.     They  are  men 
Who  work  for  their  own  ends,  and  not  for  mine  ; 
There  is  no  furtherance  in  them.     Let  them  go 
To  Apollonius,  my  governor 
There  in  Samaria,  and  not  trouble  me. 
What  do  they  want  ? 

JASON. 

Only  the  royal  sanction 
To  give  a  name  unto  a  nameless  temple 
Upon  Mount  Gerizim. 


120  JUDAS    MACCABEUS. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Then  bid  them  enter. 
This  pleases  me,  and  furthers  my  designs. 
The  occasion  is  auspicious.     Bid  them  enter. 


SCENE  II.    ANTIOCHUS  ;  JASON  ;  the  SAMARITAN  AMBAS 
SADORS. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Approach.    Come  forward  ;  stand  not  at  the  door 
Wagging  your  long  beards,  but  demean  your 
selves 
As  doth  become  Ambassadors.    What  seek  ye  ? 

AN  AMBASSADOR. 

An  audience  from  the  King. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Speak,  and  be  brief. 
Waste  not  the  time  in  useless  rhetoric. 
Words  are  not  things. 


JUDAS   MACCABEUS.  121 

AMBASSADOR,  reading. 

"  To  King  Antiochus, 
The  God,  Epiphanes ;  a  Memorial 
From  the  Sidonians,  who  live  at  Sichem." 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Sidonians  ? 

AMBASSADOR. 

Ay,  my  Lord. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Go  on,  go  on  ! 
And  do  not  tire  thyself  and  me  with  bowing  ! 

AMBASSADOR,  reading. 
"  We  are  a  colony  of  Medes  and  Persians." 

ANTIOCHUS. 

No,  ye  are  Jews  from  one  of  the  Ten  Tribes ; 
Whether  Sidonians  or  Samaritans 
Or  Jews  of  Jewry,  matters  not  to  me ; 
Ye  are  all  Israelites,  ye  are  all  Jews. 


122  JUDAS   MACCABEUS. 

When  the  Jews  prosper,  ye  claim  kindred  with 

them; 

When  the  Jews  suffer,  ye  are  Medes  and  Persians  : 
I  know  that  in  the  days  of  Alexander 
Ye  claimed  exemption  from  the  annual  tribute 
In  the  Sabbatic  Year,  because,  ye  said, 
Your  fields  had  not  been  planted  in  that  year. 

/ 

AMBASSADOR,  reading. 

"  Our  fathers,  upon  certain  frequent  plagues, 
And  following  an  ancient  superstition, 
Were  long  accustomed  to  observe  that  day 
Which  by  the  Israelites  is  called  the  Sabbath, 
And  in  a  temple  on  Mount  Gerizim 
Without  a  name,  they  offered  sacrifice. 
Now  we,  who  are  Sidonians,  beseech  thee, 
Who  art  our  benefactor  and  our  savior, 
Not  to  confound  us  with  these  wicked  Jews, 
But  to  give  royal  order  and  injunction 
To  Apollonius  in  Samaria, 


JUDAS   MACCABEUS.  123 

Thy  governor,  and  likewise  to  Mcanor, 
Thy  procurator,  no  more  to  molest  us ; 
And  let  our  nameless  temple  now  be  named 
The  Temple  of  Jupiter  Hellenius." 

ANTIOCHUS. 

This  shall  be  done.     Full  well  it  pleaseth  me 

Ye  are  not  Jews,  or  are  no  longer  Jews, 

But  Greeks;   if  not  by  birth,  yet   Greeks   by 

custom. 

Your  nameless  temple  shall  receive  the  name 
Of  Jupiter  Hellenius.     Ye  may  go  ! 


SCENE  III.    ANTIOCHUS  ;  JASON. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

My  task  is  easier  than  I  dreamed.   These  people 
Meet  me  half-way.     Jason,  didst  thou  take  note 
How  these  Samaritans  of  Sichem  said 
They  were  not  Jews  ?  that  they  were  Medes  and 
Persians, 


124  JUDAS    MACCABJEUS. 

They  were  Sidonians,  anything  but  Jews  ? 
3T  is  of  good  augury.     The  rest  will  follow 
Till  the  whole  land  is  Hellenized. 

JASON. 

My  Lord, 

These  are  Samaritans.     The  tribe  of  Judah 
Is  of  a  different  temper,  and  the  task 
Will  be  more  difficult. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Dost  thou  gainsay  me  ? 

JASON. 

I  know  the  stubborn  nature  of  the  Jew. 
Yesterday,  Eleazer,  an  old  man, 
Being  fourscore  years  and  ten,  chose  rather  death 
By  torture  than  to  eat  the  flesh  of  swine. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

The  life  is  in  the  blood,  and  the  whole  nation 
Shall  bleed  to  death,  or  it  shall  change  its  faith ! 


JUDAS   MACCABEUS.  125 

JASON. 

Hundreds  have  fled  already  to  the  mountains 

Of  Ephraim,  where  Judas  Maccabseus 

Hath  raised  the  standard  of  revolt  against  thee. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

I  will  burn  down  their  city,  and  will  make  it 
Waste  as  a  wilderness.     Its  thoroughfares 
Shall  be  but  furrows  in  a  field  of  ashes. 
It  shall  be  sown  with  salt  as  Sodom  is ! 
This  hundred  and  fifty-third  Olympiad 
Shall  have  a  broad  and  blood-red  seal  upon  it, 
Stamped  with  the  awful  letters  of  my  name, 
Antiochus  the  God,  Epiphanes  !  — 
Where  are  those  Seven  Sons  ? 

JASON. 

My  Lord,  they  wait 
Thy  royal  pleasure. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

They  shall  wait  no  longer  ! 


126  JUDAS    MACCABEUS. 


ACT  II. 

The  Dungeons  in  the  Citadel. 
SCENE  I.   THE  MOTHER  of  the  SEVEN  SONS  alone,  listening. 

THE   MOTHER. 

BE  strong,  my  heart !   Break  not  till  they  are  dead, 
All,  all  my  Seven  Sons  ;  then  burst  asunder, 
And  let  this  tortured  and  tormented  soul 
Leap  and  rush  out  like  water  through  the  shards 
Of  earthen  vessels  broken  at  a  well. 

0  my  dear  children,  mine  in  life  and  death, 

1  know  not  how  ye  came  into  my  womb ; 

I  neither  gave  you  breath,  nor  gave  you  life, 
And  neither  was  it  I  that  formed  the  members 
Of  every  one  of  you.     But  the  Creator, 
Who  made  the  world,  and  made  the  heavens 
above  us, 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS.  127 

Who  formed  the  generation  of  mankind, 
And  found  out  the  beginning  of  all  things, 
He  gave  you  breath  and  life,  and  will  again 
Of  his  own  mercy,  as  ye  now  regard 
Not  your  own  selves,  but  his  eternal  law. 
I  do  not  murmur,  nay,  I  thank  thee,  God, 
That  I  and  mine  have  not  been  deemed  un 
worthy 

To  suffer  for  thy  sake,  and  for  thy  law, 
And  for  the  many  sins  of  Israel. 
Hark !  I  can  hear  within  the  sound  of  scourges  ! 
I  feel  them  more  than  ye  do,  0  my  sons ! 
But  cannot  come  to  you.     I,  who  was  wont 
To  wake  at  night  at  the  least  cry  ye  made, 
To  w'hom  ye  ran  at  every  slightest  hurt,  — 
I  cannot  take  you  now  into  my  lap 
And  soothe  your  pain,  but  God  will  take  you 

all 

Into  his  pitying  arms,  and  comfort  you, 
And  give  you  rest. 


128  JUDAS   MACCABEUS. 

A  VOICE,  within. 

What  wouldst  thou  ask  of  us  ? 
Eeady  are  we  to  die,  but  we  will  never 
Transgress  the  law  and  customs  of  our  fathers. 

THE   MOTHER. 

It  is  the  voice  of  my  first-born !     0  brave 
And  noble  boy !     Thou  hast  the  privilege 
Of  dying  first,  as  thou  wast  born  the  first. 

THE   SAME   VOICE,  Within. 

God  looketh  on  us,  and  hath  comfort  in  us ; 
As  Moses  in  his  song  of  old  declared, 
He  in  his  servants  shall  be  comforted. 

THE    MOTHER. 

I  knew  thou  wouldst  not  fail !  —  He  speaks  no 

more, 
He  is  beyond  all  pain  ! 

ANTIOCHUS,  within. 

If  thou  eat  not 


JUDAS    MACCABJEUS.  129 

Thou  shalt  be  tortured  throughout  all  the  mem 
bers 
Of  thy  whole  body.     "Wilt  thou  eat  then  ? 

SECOND  VOICE,  within. 

No. 

THE   MOTHER. 

It  is  Adaiah's  voice.     I  tremble  for  him. 
I  know  his  nature,  devious  as  the  wind, 
And  swift  to  change,  gentle  and  yielding  always: 
Be  steadfast,  0  my  son! 

THE    SAME    VOICE,  Within. 

Thou,  like  a  fury, 

Takest  us  from  this  present  life,  but  God, 
Who  rules  the  world,  shall  raise  us  up  again 
Into  life  everlasting. 

THE   MOTHER. 

God,  I  thank  thee 

That  thou  hast  breathed  into  that  timid  heart 
Courage  to  die  for  thee.     0  my  Adaiah, 


130  JUDAS    MACCABEUS. 

Witness  of  God !  if  thou  for  whom  I  feared 
Canst  thus  encounter  death,  I  need  not  fear ; 

The  others  will  not  shrink. 

/ 

THIRD  VOICE,  within. 

Behold  these  hands 
Held  out  to  thee,  0  King  Antiochus, 
Not  to  implore  thy  mercy,  but  to  show 
That  I  despise  them.     He  who  gave  them  to  me 
Will  give  them  back  again. 

THE   MOTHER. 

0  Avilan, 

It  is  thy  voice.     For  the  last  time  I  hear  it ; 
For  the  last  time  on  earth,  but  not  the  last. 
To  death  it  bids  defiance  and  to  torture. 
It  sounds  to  me  as  from  another  world, 
And  makes  the  petty  miseries  of  this 
Seem  unto  me  as  naught,  and  less  than  naught. 
Farewell,  my  Avilan ;  nay,  I  should  say 
Welcome,  my  Avilan ;  for  I  am  dead 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS.  131 

Before  thee.     I  am  waiting  for  the  others. 
Why  do  they  linger  ? 

FOURTH   VOICE.  Within. 

It  is  good,  0  King, 

Being  put  to  death  by  men,  to  look  for  hope 
From  God,  to  be  raised  up  again  by  him. 
But  thou  —  no  resurrection  shalt  thou  have 
To  life  hereafter. 

THE   MOTHER. 

Four !  already  four ! 

Three  are  still  living ;  nay,  they  all  are  living, 
Half  here,  half  there.     Make  haste,  Antiochus, 
To  reunite  us ;  for  the  sword  that  cleaves 
These  miserable  bodies  makes  a  door 
Through  which  our  souls,  impatient  of  release, 
Eush  to  each  other's  arms. 

FIFTH  VOICE,  within. 

Thou  hast  the  power ; 
Thou  doest  what  thou  wilt.     Abide  awhile, 


132  JUDAS    MACCABEUS. 

And  tliou  shalt  see  the  power  of  God,  and  how 
He  will  torment  thee  and  thy  seed. 

THE   MOTHER. 

0  hasten ; 
Why  dost  thou  pause  ?    Thou  who  hast  slain 

already 

So  many  Hebrew  women,  and  hast  hung 
Their  murdered  infants  round  their  necks,  slay  me, 
For  I  too  am  a  woman,  and  these  boys 
Are  mine.     Make  haste  to  slay  us  all, 
And  hang  my  lifeless  babes  about  my  neck. 

SIXTH  VOICE,  within. 

Think  not,  Antiochus,  that  takest  in  hand 
To  strive  against  the  God  of  Israel, 
Thou  shalt  escape  unpunished,  for  his  wrath 
Shall  overtake  thee  and  thy  bloody  house. 

THE   MOTHER. 

One  more,  my  Sirion,  and  then  all  is  ended. 
Having  put  all  to  bed,  then  in  my  turn 


JUDAS   MACCABEUS.  133 

I  will  lie  down  and  sleep  as  sound  as  they. 
My  Sirion,  my  youngest,  best  beloved ! 
And  those  bright  golden  locks,  that  I  so  oft 
Have  curled  about  these  fingers,  even  now 
Are  foul  with  blood  and  dust,  like  a  lamb's  fleece, 
Slain  in  the  shambles.  —  Not  a  sound  I  hear. 
This  silence  is  more  terrible  to  me 
Than  any  sound,  than  any  cry  of  pain, 
That  might  escape  the  lips  of  one  who  dies. 
Doth  his  heart  fail  him  ?     Doth  he  fall  away 
In  the  last  hour  from  God  ?     0  Sirion,  Sirion, 
Art  thou  afraid  ?     I  do  not  hear  thy  voice. 
Die  as  thy  brothers  died.     Thou  must  not  live ! 

SCENE  II.     THE  MOTHER  ;  ANTIOCHUS  ;  SIRION. 

THE   MOTHER. 


Are  they  all  dead  ? 


ANTIOCHUS. 

Of  all  thy  Seven  Sons 


134  JUDAS   MACCABJEUS. 

One  only  lives.     Behold  them  where  they  lie  ; 
How  dost  thou  like  this  picture  ? 

THE   MOTHER. 

God  in  heaven ! 

Can  a  man  do  such  deeds,  and  yet  not  die 
By  the  recoil  of  his  own  wickedness  ? 
Ye  murdered,  bleeding,  mutilated  bodies 
That  were  my  children  once,  and  still  are  mine, 
I  cannot  watch  o'er  you  as  Eispah  watched 
In  sackcloth  o'er  the  seven  sons  of  Saul, 
Till  water  drop  upon  you  out  of  heaven 
And  wash  this  blood  away !     I  cannot  mourn 
As  she,  the  daughter  of  Aiah,  mourned  the  dead, 
From  the  beginning  of  the  barley-harvest 
Until  the  autumn  rains,  and  suffered  not 
The  birds  of  air  to  rest  on  them  by  day, 
NOT  the  wild  beasts  by  night.    For  ye  have  died 
A  better  death,  a  death  so  full  of  life 
That  I  ought  rather  to  rejoice  than  mourn.  — 
Wherefore  art  thou  not  dead,  0  Sirion  ? 


JUDAS   MACCABEUS.  135 

Wherefore  art  thou  the  only  living  thing 
Among  thy  brothers  dead  ?    Art  thou  afraid  ? 

ANTIOCHUS. 

0  woman,  I  have  spared  him  for  thy  sake, 
For  he  is  fair  to  look  upon  and  comely ; 
And  I  have  sworn  to  him  by  all  the  gods 
That  I  would  crown  his  life  with  joy  and  honor, 
Heap  treasures  on  him,  luxuries,  delights, 
Make  him  my  friend  and  keeper  of  my  secrets, 
If  he  would  turn  from  your  Mosaic  Law 
And  be  as  we  are ;  but  he  will  not  listen. 

THE  MOTHER. 

My  noble  Sirion ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Therefore  I  beseech  thee, 
Who  art  his  mother,  thou  wouldst  speak  with 

him, 
And  wouldst  persuade  him.    I  am  sick  of  blood. 


136  JUDAS    MACCABEUS. 

THE   MOTHER. 

Yea,  I  will  speak  with  him  and  will  persuade 

him. 

0  Sirion,  my  son !  have  pity  on  me, 
On  me  that  bare  thee,  and  that  gave  thee  suck, 
And  fed  and  nourished  thee,  and  brought  thee  up 
With  the  dear  trouble  of  a  mother's  care 
Unto  this  age.     Look  on  the  heavens  above  thee, 
And  on  the  earth  and  all  that  is  therein ; 
Consider  that  God  made  them  out  of  things 
That  were  not ;  and  that  likewise  in  this  manner 
Mankind  was  made.      Then  fear  not  this  tor 
mentor  ; 

But,  being  worthy  of  thy  brethren,  take 
Thy  death  as  they  did,  that  I  may  receive  thee 
Again  in  mercy  with  them. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

I  am  mocked, 
Yea,  I  am  laughed  to  scorn. 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS.  137 

SIRION. 

Whom  wait  ye  for  ? 

Never  will  I  obey  the  King's  commandment, 
But  the  commandment  of  the  ancient  Law, 
That  was  by  Moses  given  unto  our  fathers. 
And  thou,  0  godless  man,  that  of  all  others 
Art  the  most  wicked,  be  not  lifted  up, 
Nor  puffed  up  with  uncertain  hopes,  uplifting 
Thy  hand  against  the  servants  of  the  Lord, 
For  thou  hast  not  escaped  the  righteous  judg 
ment 
Of  the  Almighty  God,  who  seeth  all  things  ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

He  is  no  God  of  mine ;  I  fear  him  not. 

SIRION. 

My  brothers,  who  have  suffered  a  brief  pain, 
Are  dead ;  but  thou,  Antiochus,  shalt  suffer 
The  punishment  of  pride.     I  offer  up 
My  body  and  my  life,  beseeching  God 


138  JUDAS    MACCABEUS. 

That  he  would  speedily  be  merciful 
Unto  our  nation,  and  that  thou  by  plagues 
Mysterious  and  by  torments  mayest  confess 
That  he  alone  is  God. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Ye  both  shall  perish 

By  torments  worse  than  any  that  your  God, 
Here  or  hereafter,  hath  in  store  for  me. 

THE    MOTHER. 

My  Sirion,  I  am  proud  of  thee  ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Be  silent ! 

Go  to  thy  bed  of  torture  in  yon  chamber, 
Where  lie  so  many  sleepers,  heartless  mother ! 
Thy  footsteps  will  not  wake  them,  nor  thy  voice, 
NOT  wilt  thou  hear,  amid  thy  troubled  dreams, 
Thy  children  crying  for  thee  in  the  night ! 

THE   MOTHER. 

0  Death,  that  stretchest  thy  white  hands  to  me, 


JUDAS   MACCAB^EUS.  139 

I  fear  them  not,  but  press  them  to  my  lips, 
That  are  as  white  as  thine  ;  for  I  am  Death, 
Nay,  am  the  Mother  of  Death,  seeing  these  sons 
All  lying  lifeless.  —  Kiss  me,  Sirion. 


140  JUDAS   MACCABEUS. 


ACT    III. 

The  Battle-field  of  Beth-horon. 

SCENE  I.    JUDAS  MACCABEUS  in  armor  before  his  tent. 

JUDAS. 

THE  trumpets  sound ;  the  echoes  of  the  moun 
tains 

Answer  them,  as  the  Sabbath  morning  breaks 
Over  Beth-horon  and  its  battle-field, 
Where  the  great  captain  of  the  hosts  of  God, 
A  slave  brought  up  in  the  brick-fields  of  Egypt, 
O'ercame  the  Amorites.     There  was  no  day 
Like  that,  before  or  after  it,  nor  shall  be. 
The  sun  stood  still ;  the  hammers  of  the  hail 
Beat  on  their  harness  ;  and  the  captains  set 
Their  weary  feet  upon  the  necks  of  kings, 
As  I  will  upon  thine,  Antiochus, 


JUDAS   MACCABEUS.  141 

Thou  man  of  blood  !  —  Behold  the  rising  sun 

Strikes  on  the  golden  letters  of  my  banner, 

Be  EloTiim  Yehovah  !    Who  is  like 

To  thee,  0  Lord,  among  the  gods  ?  —  Alas  ! 

I  am  not  Joshua,  I  cannot  say, 

"  Sun,  stand  thou  still  on  Gibeon,  and  thou  Moon, 

In  Ajalon !  "     Nor  am  I  one  who  wastes 

The  fateful  time  in  useless  lamentation  ; 

But  one  who  bears  his  life  upon  his  hand 

To  lose  it  or  to  save  it,  as  may  best 

Serve  the  designs  of  Him  who  giveth  life. 


SCENE  II.    JUDAS  MACCABEUS  ;  JEWISH  FUGITIVES. 

JUDAS. 

Who  and  what  are  ye,  that  with  furtive  steps 
Steal  in  among  our  tents  ? 

FUGITIVES. 

0  Maccabeeus, 
Outcasts  are  we,  and  fugitives  as  thou  art, 


142  JUDAS   MACCABEUS. 

Jews  of  Jerusalem,  that  have  escaped 
From  the  polluted  city,  and  from  death. 

JUDAS. 

None  can  escape  from  death.     Say  that  ye  come 
To  die  for  Israel,  and  ye  are  welcome. 
What  tidings  bring  ye  ? 

FUGITIVES. 

Tidings  of  despair. 

The  Temple  is  laid  waste ;  the  precious  vessels, 
Censers  of  gold,  vials  and  veils  and  crowns, 
And  golden  ornaments,  and  hidden  treasures, 
Have  all  been  taken  from  it,  and  the  Gentiles 
With  revelling  and  with  riot  fill  its  courts, 
And  dally  with  harlots  in  the  holy  places. 

JUDAS. 

All  this  I  knew  before. 

FUGITIVES. 

Upon  the  altar 
Are  things  profane,  things  by  the  law  forbidden ; 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS.  143 

"Nor  can  we  keep  our  Sabbaths  or  our  Feasts, 
But  on  the  festivals  of  Dionysus 
Must  walk  in  their  processions,  bearing  ivy 
To  crown  a  drunken  god. 

JUDAS. 

This  too  I  know. 
But  tell  me  of  the  Jews.     How  fare  the  Jews  ? 

FUGITIVES. 

The  coming  of  this  mischief  hath  been  sore 
And  grievous  to  the  people.     All  the  land 
Is  full  of  lamentation  and  of  mourning. 
The  Princes  and  the  Elders  weep  and  wail ; 
The  young  men  and  the  maidens  are  made  feeble ; 
The  beauty  of  the  women  hath  been  changed. 

JUDAS. 

And  are  there  none  to  die  for  Israel  ? 
'T  is  not  enough  to   mourn.     Breastplate   and 
harness 


144  JUDAS   MACCABEUS. 

Are  better  tilings  than  sackcloth.     Let  the  wo 
men 
Lament  for  Israel ;  the  men  should  die. 

FUGITIVES. 

Both  men  and  women  die ;  old  men  and  young : 
Old  Eleazer  died ;  and  Mahala 
With  all  her  Seven  Sons. 

JUDAS. 

Antiochus, 

At  every  step  thou  takest  there  is  left 
A  bloody  footprint  in  the  street,  by  which 
The  avenging  wrath  of  God  will  track  thee  out ! 
It  is  enough.     Go  to  the  sutler's  tents  : 
Those  of  you  who  are  men,  put  on  such  armor 
As  ye  may  find ;  those  of  you  who  are  women, 
Buckle  that  armor  on ;  and  for  a  watchword 
Whisper,  or  cry  aloud,  "The  Help  of  God." 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS.  145 


SCENE  III.    JUDAS  MACCABEUS  ;  NICANOK. 

NICANOR. 

Hail,  Judas  Maccabaeus ! 

JUDAS. 

Hail!— Who  art  tliou 
That  comest  here  in  this  mysterious  guise 
Into  our  camp  unheralded  ? 

NICANOR. 

A  herald 
Sent  from  Meaner. 

JUDAS. 

Heralds  come  not  thus. 

Armed  with  thy  shirt  of  mail  from  head  to  heel, 
Thou  glidest  like  a  serpent  silently 
Into  my  presence.     Wherefore  dost  thou  turn 
Thy  face  from  me  ?     A  herald  speaks  his  errand 
10 


146  JUDAS    MACCABEUS. 

With  forehead  unabashed.     Thou  art  a  spy 
Sent  by  Mcanor. 

NICANOR. 

No  disguise  avails ! 
Behold  my  face  ;  I  am  Mcanor's  self. 

JUDAS. 

Thou  art  indeed  Mcanor.     I  salute  thee. 
What  brings  thee  hither  to  this  hostile  camp 
Thus  unattended  ? 

NICANOR. 

Confidence  in  thee. 

Thou  hast  the  nobler  virtues  of  thy  race, 
Without  the  failings  that  attend  those  virtues. 
Thou  canst  be  strong,  and  yet  not  tyrannous, 
Canst  righteous  be  and  not  intolerant. 
Let  there  be  peace  between  us. 


JTJDAS. 

What  is  peace  ? 
Is  it  to  bow  in  silence  to  our  victors  ? 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS.  147 

Is  it  to  see  our  cities  sacked  and  pillaged, 
Our  people  slain,  or  sold  as  slaves,  or  fleeing 
At  night-time  by  the  blaze  of  burning  towns  ; 
Jerusalem  laid  waste  ;  the  Holy  Temple 
Polluted  with  strange  gods  ?     Are  these  things 
peace  ? 

NICANOR. 

These  are  the  dire  necessities  that  wait 
On  war,  whose  loud  and  bloody  enginery 
I  seek  to  stay.     Let  there  be  peace  between 
Antiochus  and  thee. 

JUDAS. 

Antiochus  ? 

"What  is  Antiochus,  that  he  should  prate 
Of  peace  to  me,  who  am  a  fugitive  ? 
To-day  he  shall  be  lifted  up ;  to-morrow 
Shall  not  be  found,  because  he  is  returned 
Unto  his  dust ;  his  thought  has  come  to  nothing. 
There  is  no  peace  between  us,  nor  can  be, 


148  JUDAS    MACCAB^EUS. 

Until  this  banner  floats  upon  the  walls 
Of  our  Jerusalem. 

NICANOR. 

Between  that  city 

And  thee  there  lies  a  waving  wall  of  tents, 
Held  by  a  host  of  forty  thousand  foot, 
And  horsemen   seven   thousand.      What  hast 

thou 
To  bring  against  all  these  ? 

JUDAS. 

The  power  of  God, 
Whose  breath  shall  scatter  your  white  tents 

abroad, 
As  flakes  of  snow. 

NICANOR. 

Your  Mighty  One  in  heaven 
Will  not  do  battle  on  the  Seventh  Day ; 
It  is  his  day  of  rest. 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS.  149 

JUDAS. 

Silence,  blasphemer. 
Go  to  thy  tents. 

NICANOR. 

Shall  it  be  war  or  peace  ? 

JUDAS. 

War,  war,  and  only  war.     Go  to  thy  tents 
That  shall  be  scattered,  as  by  you  were  scattered 
The  torn  and  trampled  pages  of  the  Law, 
Blown  through  the  windy  streets. 

NICANOR. 

Farewell,  brave  foe ! 

JUDAS. 

Ho,  there,   my  captains  !      Have   safe-conduct 

given 

Unto  Meaner' s  herald  through  the  camp, 
And  come  yourselves  to  me.  —  Farewell,  Meaner ! 


150  JUDAS    MACCABEUS. 


SCENE  IV.    JUDAS  MACCABEUS  ;  CAPTAINS  AND  SOLDIERS. 

JUDAS. 

The  hour  is  come.     Gather  the  host  together 
For  battle.     Lo,  with  trumpets  and  with  songs 
The  army  of  Meaner  comes  against  us. 
Go  forth  to  meet  them,  praying  in  your  hearts, 
And  fighting  with  your  hands. 

CAPTAINS. 

Look  forth  and  see ! 

The  morning  sun  is  shining  on  their  shields 
Of  gold  and  brass ;  the  mountains  glisten  with 

them, 

And  shine  like  lamps.    And  we  who  are  so  few 
And  poorly  armed,  and  ready  to  faint  with  fasting, 
How  shall  we  fight  against  this  multitude  ? 

JUDAS. 

The  victory  of  a  battle  standeth  not 


JUDAS    MACCAB^EUS.  151 

In  multitudes,  but  in  the  strength  that  cometh 
From  heaven  above.     The  Lord  forbid  that  I 
Should  do  this  thing,  and  flee  away  from  them. 
Nay,  if  our  hour  be  come,  then  let  us  die ; 
Let  us  not  stain  our  honor. 

CAPTAINS. 

'T  is  the  Sabbath. 
Wilt  thou  fight  on  the  Sabbath,  Maccabseus  ? 

JUDAS. 

Ay ;  when  I  fight  the  battles  of  the  Lord, 
I  fight  them  on  his  day,  as  on  all  others. 
Have  ye  forgotten  certain  fugitives 
That  fled  once  to  these  hills,  and  hid  themselves 
In  caves  ?     How  their  pursuers  camped  against 

them 

Upon  the  Seventh  Day,  and  challenged  them  ? 
And  how  they  answered  not,  nor  cast  a  stone, 
Nor  stopped  the   places   where  they  lay  con 
cealed, 


152  JUDAS   MACCABEUS. 

But  meekly  perished  with  their  wives  and  chil 
dren, 

Even  to  the  number  of  a  thousand  souls  ? 
We  who  are  fighting  for  our  laws  and  lives 
Will  not  so  perish. 

CAPTAINS. 

Lead  us  to  the  battle  ! 

JUDAS. 

And  let  our  watchword  be,  "  The  Help  of  God  !" 
Last  night  I  dreamed  a  dream ;  and  in  my  vision 
Beheld  Onias,  our  High-Priest  of  old, 
Who  holding  up  his  hands  prayed  for  the  Jews. 
This  done,  in  the  like  manner  there  appeared 
An  old  man,  and  exceeding  glorious, 
With  hoary  hair,  and  of  a  wonderful 
And  excellent  majesty.     And  Onias  said : 
"  This  is  a  lover  of  the  Jews,  who  prayeth 
Much  for  the  people  and  the  Holy  City,  — 
God's  prophet  Jeremias."     And  the  prophet 


JUDAS   MACCABEUS.  153 

Held  forth  his  right  hand  and  gave  unto  me 
A  sword  of  gold  ;  and  giving  it  he  said  : 
"  Take  thou  this  holy  sword,  a  gift  from  God, 
And  with  it  thou  shalt  wound  thine  adversaries." 

CAPTAINS. 

The  Lord  is  with  us  ! 

JUDAS. 

Hark !  I  hear  the  trumpets 
Sound  from  Beth-horon ;  from  the  battle-field 
Of  Joshua,  where  he  smote  the  Amorites, 
Smote  the  Five  Kings  of  Eglon  and  of  Jarmuth, 
Of  Hebron,  Lachish,  and  Jerusalem, 
As  we  to-day  will  smite  Mcanor's  hosts, 
And  leave  a  memory  of  great  deeds  behind  us. 

CAPTAINS  AND   SOLDIERS. 

The  Help  of  God ! 

JUDAS. 

Be  Eloliim  Yehovah  ! 


154  JUDAS    MACCABvEUS. 

Lord,  tliou  didst  send  thine  Angel  in  the  time 

Of  Ezekias,  King  of  Israel, 

And  in  the  armies  of  Sennacherib 

Didst  slay  a  hundred  fourscore  and  five  thou 
sand. 

Wherefore,  0  Lord  of  heaven,  now  also  send 

Before  us  a  good  angel  for  a  fear, 

And  through  the  might  of  thy  right  arm,  let 
those 

Be  stricken  with  terror  that  have  come  this  day 

Against  thy  holy  people  to  blaspheme ! 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS.  155 


ACT  IV. 

The  outer  Courts  of  the  Temple  at  Jerusalem. 

SCENE  I.    JUDAS  MACCABEUS;  CAPTAINS;  JEWS. 

JUDAS. 

BEHOLD,  our  enemies  are  discomfited. 
Jerusalem  is  fallen  ;  and  our  banners 
Float  from  her  battlements,  and  o'er  her  gates 
Mcanor's  severed  head,  a  sign  of  terror, 
Blackens  in  wind  and  sun. 

CAPTAINS. 

0  Maccabseus, 

The  citadel  of  Antiochus,  wherein 
The  Mother  with  her  Seven  Sons  was  murdered, 
Is  still  defiant. 

JUDAS. 

Wait. 


156  JUDAS    MACCABEUS. 

CAPTAINS. 

Its  hateful  aspect 

Insults  us  with  the  bitter  memories 
Of  other  days. 

JUDAS. 

Wait ;  it  shall  disappear 
And  vanish  as  a  cloud.     First  let  us  cleanse 
The  Sanctuary.     See,  it  is  become 
Waste  like  a  wilderness.     Its  golden  gates 
Wrenched  from  their  hinges  and  consumed  by 

fire; 

Shrubs  growing  in  its  courts  as  in  a  forest ; 
Upon  its  altars  hideous  and  strange  idols ; 
And  strewn  about  its  pavement  at  my  feet 
Its  Sacred  Books,  half  burned  and  painted  o'er 
With  images  of  heathen  gods. 

JEWS. 

Woe !  woe  ! 

Our  beauty  and  our  glory  are  laid  waste  ! 
The  Gentiles  have  profaned  our  holy  places ! 

Lamentation  and  alarm  of  trumpets. 


JUDAS   MACCABEUS.  157 

JUDAS. 

This  sound  of  trumpets,  and  this  lamentation, 
The  heart-cry  of  a  people  toward  the  heavens, 
Stir  me  to  wrath  and  vengeance.     Go,  my  cap 
tains  ; 

I  hold  you  back  no  longer.     Batter  down 
The  citadel  of  Antiochus,  while  here 
We  sweep  away  his  altars  and  his  gods. 


SCENE  II.    JTJDAS  MACCABJSUS  ;  JASON  ;  JEWS. 

JEWS. 

Lurking  among  the  ruins  of  the  Temple, 
Deep  in  its  inner  courts,  we  found  this  man, 
Clad  as  High-Priest. 

JUDAS. 

I  ask  not  who  thou  art. 
I  know  thy  face,  writ  over  with  deceit 
As  are  these  tattered  volumes  of  the  Law 


158  JUDAS    MACCABEUS. 

With  heathen  images.     A  priest  of  God 
Wast  thou  in  other  days,  but  thou  art  now 
A  priest  of  Satan.     Traitor,  thou  art  Jason. 

JASON. 

I  am  thy  prisoner,  Judas  Maccabaeus, 
And  it  would  ill  become  me  to  conceal 
My  name  or  office. 

JUDAS. 

Over  yonder  gate 

There  hangs  the  head  of  one  who  was  a  Greek. 
What  should  prevent  me  now,  thou  man  of  sin, 
From  hanging  at  its  side  the  head  of  one 
Who  born  a  Jew  hath  made  himself  a  Greek  ? 

JASON. 

Justice  prevents  thee. 

JUDAS. 

Justice  ?     Thou  art  stained 


JUDAS    MACCABJEUS.  159 

With  every  crime  'gainst  which  the  Decalogue 
Thunders  with  all  its  thunder. 

JASON. 

If  not  Justice, 
Then  Mercy,  her  handmaiden. 

JUDAS. 

When  hast  thou 

At  any  time,  to  any  man  or  woman, 
Or  even  to  any  little  child,  shown  mercy  ? 

JASON. 

I  have  but  done  what  King  Antiochus 
Commanded  me. 

JUDAS. 

True,  thou  hast  been  the  weapon 
With  which  he  struck  ;  but  hast  been  such  a 

weapon, 

So  flexible,  so  fitted  to  his  hand 
It  tempted  him  to  strike.    So  thou  hast  urged  him 


160  JUDAS    MACCAB^EUS. 

To  double  wickedness,  thine  own  and  his. 
Where  is  this  King  ?     Is  he  in  Antioch 
Among  his  women  still,  and  from  his  windows 
Throwing  down  gold  by  handfuls,  for  the  rabble 
To  scramble  for  ? 

JASON. 

Nay,  he  is  gone  from  there, 
Gone  with  an  army  into  the  far  East. 

JUDAS. 

And  wherefore  gone  ? 

JASON. 

I  know  not.     Tor  the  space 
Of  forty  days  almost  were  horsemen  seen 
Eunning  in  air,  in  cloth  of  gold,  and  armed 
With  lances,  like  a  band  of  soldiery ; 
It  was  a  sign  of  triumph. 

JUDAS. 

Or  of  death. 
Wherefore  art  thou  not  with  him  ? 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS.  161 

JASON. 

I  was  left 
For  service  in  the  Temple. 

JUDAS. 

To  pollute  it, 

And  to  corrupt  the  Jews  ;  for  there  are  men 
Whose  presence  is  corruption ;  to  be  with  them 
Degrades  us  and  deforms  the  things  we  do. 

JASON. 

I  never  made  a  boast,  as  some  men  do, 

Of  my  superior  virtue,  nor  denied 

The  weakness  of  my  nature,  that  hath  made  me 

Subservient  to  the  will  of  other  men. 

JUDAS. 

Upon  this  day,  the  five-and-twentieth  day 
Of  the  month  Caslan,  was  the  Temple  here 
Profaned  by  strangers,  —  by  Antiochus 
And  thee,  his  instrument.     Upon  this  day 
Shall  it  be  cleansed.    Thou,  who  didst  lend  thyself 
11 


162  JUDAS    MACCABEUS. 

Unto  this  profanation,  canst  not  be 
A  witness  of  these  solemn  services. 
There  can  be  nothing  clean  where  thou  art 

present. 

The  people  put  to  death  Callisthenes, 
Who  burned  the  Temple  gates  ;  and  if  they  find 

thee 

Will  surely  slay  thee.     I  will  spare  thy  life 
To  punish  thee  the  longer.      Thou  shalt  wander 
Among  strange  nations.    Thou,  that  hast  cast  out 
So  many  from  their  native  land,  shalt  perish 
In  a  strange  land.     Thou,  that  hast  left  so  many 
Unburied,  shalt  have  none  to  mourn  for  thee, 
Nor  any  solemn  funerals  at  all, 
Nor   sepulchre    with    thy   fathers.  —  Get  thee 

hence  J 

Music.  Procession  of  Priests  and  people,  with  citherns, 
harps,  and  cymbals.  JUDAS  MACCABEUS  puts  him 
self  at  their  head,  and  they  go  into  the  inner  courts. 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS.  163 


SCENE  III.     JASON,  alone. 

JASON. 

Through  the  Gate  Beautiful  I  see  them  come 
With  branches  and  green  boughs  and  leaves  of 

palm, 

And  pass  into  the  inner  courts.     Alas  ! 
I  should  be  with  them,  should  be  one  of  them, 
But  in  an  evil  hour,  an  hour  of  weakness, 
That  cometh  unto  all,  I  fell  away 
From  the  old  faith,  and  did  not  clutch  the  new, 
Only  an  outward  semblance  of  belief; 
Tor  the  new  faith  I  cannot  make  mine  own, 
Not 'being  born  to  it.     It  hath  no  root 
Within  me.     I  am  neither  Jew  nor  Greek, 
But  stand  between  them  both,  a  renegade 
To  each  in  turn ;  having  no  longer  faith 
In  gods  or  men.     Then  what  mysterious  charm, 
What  fascination  is  it  chains  my  feet, 
And  keeps  me  gazing  like  a  curious  child 


164  JUDAS    MACCAB^EUS. 

Into  the  holy  places,  where  the  priests 
Have   raised  their  altar  ?  —  Striking  stones  to 
gether, 

They  take  fire  out  of  them,  and  light  the  lamps 
In  the  great  candlestick.     They  spread  the  veils, 
And  set  the  loaves  of  showbread  on  the  table. 
The  incense  burns ;  the  well-remembered  odor 
Comes  wafted  unto  me,  and  takes  me  back 
To  other  days.     I  see  myself  among  them 
As  I  was  then  ;  and  the  old  superstition 
Creeps  over  me  again !  —  A  childish  fancy !  — 
And  hark !  they  sing  with  citherns  and  with 

cymbals, 

And  all  the  people  fall  upon  their  faces, 
Praying  and  worshipping  !  —  I  will  away 
Into  the  East,  to  meet  Antiochus 
Upon  his  homeward  journey,  crowned  with  tri 
umph. 

Alas  !  to-day  I  would  give  everything 
To  see  a  friend's  face,  or  to  hear  a  voice 
That  had  the  slightest  tone  of  comfort  in  it ! 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS.  165 


ACT  Y. 

The  Mountains  of  Ecbatana. 
SCENE  I.    ANTIOCHTJS  ;  PHILIP  ;  ATTENDANTS. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

HERE  let  us  rest  awhile.    Where  are  we,  Philip  ? 
What  place  is  this  ? 

PHILIP. 

My  Lord,  these  are  the  mountains 
Of  Ecbatana.     These  are  the  Orontes. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

The  Orontes  is  my  river  at  Antioch. 
Why  did  I  leave  it  ?    Why  have  I  been  tempted 
By  coverings  of  gold  and  shields  and  breast 
plates 

To  plunder  Elymais,  and  be  driven 
12 


166  JUDAS    MACCABEUS. 

From  out  its  gates,  as  by  a  fiery  blast 
Out  of  a  furnace  ? 

PHILIP. 

These  are  fortune's  changes. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

What  a  defeat  it  was  !     The  Persian  horsemen 
Came  like  a  mighty  wind,  the  wind  Khamaseen, 
And  melted  us  away,  and  scattered  us 
As  if  we  were  dead  leaves,  or  desert  sand. 

PHILIP. 

Be  comforted,  my  Lord ;  for  thou  hast  lost 
But  what  thou  hadst  not. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

I,  who  made  the  Jews 
Skip  like  the  grasshoppers,  am  made  myself 
To  skip  among  these  stones. 

PHILIP. 

Be  not  discouraged. 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS.  1  G7 

Thy  realm  of  Syria  remains  to  thee ; 
That  is  not  lost  nor  marred. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

O,  where  are  now 

The  splendors  of  my  court,  my  baths  and  ban 
quets  ? 

Where  are  my  players  and  my  dancing  women  ? 
Where  are  my  sweet  musicians  with  their  pipes, 
That  made  me  merry  in  the  olden  time  ? 
I  am  a  laughing-stock  to  man  and  brute. 
The  very  camels,  with  their  ugly  faces, 
Mock  me  and  laugh  at  me. 

PHILIP. 

Alas !  my  Lord, 

It  is  not  so.     If  thou  wouldst  sleep  awhile, 
All  would  be  well. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Sleep  from  mine  eyes  is  gone, 
And  my  heart  faileth  me  for  very  care. 


168  JUDAS   MACCABEUS. 

Dost  thou  remember,  Philip,  the  old  fable 
Told  us  when  we  were  boys,  in  which  the  bear 
Going  for  honey  overturns  the  hive, 
And  is  stung  blind  by  bees  ?     I  am  that  beast, 
Stung  by  the  Persian  swarms  of  Elymais. 

PHILIP. 

When  thou  art  come  again  to  Antioch 
These  thoughts  will  be  as  covered  and  forgotten 
As  are  the  tracks  of  Pharaoh's  chariot-wheels 
In  the  Egyptian  sands. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Ah  !  when  I  come 

Again  to  Antioch  !    When  will  that  be  ? 
Alas  !  alas ! 


SCENE  II.     ANTIOCHTJS;  PHILIP;  A  MESSENGER. 

MESSENGER. 

May  the  King  live  forever ! 


JUDAS    MACCABJEUS.  169 

> 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Who  art  thou,  and  whence  comest  thou  ? 

MESSENGER. 

My  Lord, 
I  am  a  messenger  from  Antioch, 

Sent  here  by  Lysias. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

A  strange  foreboding 
Of  something  evil  overshadows  me. 
I  am  no  reader  of  the  Jewish  Scriptures ; 
I  know  not  Hebrew  ;  but  my  High-Priest  Jason, 
As  I  remember,  told  me  of  a  Prophet 
Who  saw  a  little  cloud  rise  from  the  sea 
Like   a  man's  hand,  and  soon  the  heaven  was 

black 
With  clouds   and  rain.     Here,  Philip,  read;  I 

cannot ; 

I  see  that  cloud.     It  makes  the  letters  dim 
Before  mine  eyes. 


170  JUDAS    MACCABEUS. 

PHILIP,  reading. 

"  To  King  Antiochus, 
The  God,  Epiphanes." 

ANTIOCHUS. 

O  mockery ! 
Even  Lysias  laughs  at  me  !  —  Go  on,  go  on ! 

PHILIP,  reading. 

"  We  pray  thee  hasten  thy  return.     The  realm 
Is  falling  from  thee.    Since  thou  hast  gone  from  us, 
The  victories  of  Judas  Maccabseus 
Form  all  our  annals.     First  he  overthrew 
Thy  forces  at  Beth-horon,  and  passed  on, 
And  took  Jerusalem,  the  Holy  City. 
And  then  Emmaus  fell ;  and  then  Bethsura ; 
Ephron  and  all  the  towns  of  Galaad, 
And  Maccabseus  marched  to  Camion." 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Enough,  enough  !     Go  call  my  chariot-men  ; 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS.  171 

We  will  drive  forward,  forward  without  ceasing, 
Until  we  come  to  Antioch.     My  captains, 
My  Lysias,  Gorgias,  Seron,  and  Meaner, 
Are  babes  in  battle,  and  this  dreadful  Jew 
Will  rob  me  of  my  kingdom  and  my  crown. 
My  elephants  shall  trample  him  to  dust ; 
I  will  wipe  out  his  nation,  and  will  make 
Jerusalem  a  common  burying-place, 
And  every  home  within  its  walls  a  tomb  ! 

Throws  up  his  hands,    and  sinks  into   the  arms  of 
attendants,  ivho  lay  him  upon  a  bank. 

PHILIP. 

Antiochus  !  Antiochus  !    Alas, 

The  King  is  ill!    What  is  it,  0  my  Lord  ? 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Nothing.     A  sudden  and  sharp  spasm  of  pain, 
As  if  the  lightning  struck  me,  or  the  knife 
Of  an  assassin  smote  me  to  the  heart. 
'T  is  passed,  even  as  it  came.    Let  us  set  forward. 


172  JUDAS    MACCABEUS. 

PHILIP. 

See  that  the  chariots  be  in  readiness ; 
We  will  depart  forthwith. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

A  moment  more. 

I  cannot  stand.     I  am  become  at  once 
"Weak  as  an  infant.     Ye  wilThave  to  lead  me. 
Jove,  or  Jehovah,  or  whatever  name 
Thou  wouldst  be  named,  —  it  is  alike  to  me,  — 
If  I  knew  how  to  pray,  I  would  entreat 
To  live  a  little  longer. 

PHILIP. 

0  my  Lord, 
Thou  shalt  not  die ;  we  will  not  let  thee  die ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

How  canst  thou  help  it,  Philip  ?     0  the  pain  ! 
Stab  after  stab.     Thou  hast  no  shield  against 
This  unseen  weapon.     God  of  Israel, 
Since  all  the  other  gods  abandon  me, 


JUDAS    MACCABEUS.  173 

Help  me.     I  will  release  the  Holy  City, 
Garnish  with  goodly  gifts  the  Holy  Temple. 
Thy  people,  whom  I  judged  to  be  unworthy 
To  be  so  much  as  buried,  shall  be  equal 
Unto  the  citizens  of  Antioch. 
I  will  become  a  Jew,  and  will  declare 
Through  all  the  world  that  is  inhabited 
The  power  of  God ! 

PHILIP. 

He  faints.     It  is  like  death. 
Bring  here  the  royal  litter.     We  wiU  bear  him 
Into  the  camp,  while  yet  he  lives. 

ANTIOCHUS. 

0  Philip, 

Into  what  tribulation  am  I  come ! 
Alas  !     I  now  remember  all  the  evil 
That  I  have  done  the  Jews  ;  and  for  this  cause 
These  troubles  are  upon  me,  and  behold 
I  perish  through  great  grief  in  a  strange  land. 


174  JUDAS    MACCABEUS. 

PHILIP. 

Antiochus  !  my  King  ! 

ANTIOCHUS. 

Nay,  King  no  longer. 

Take  thou  my  royal  robes,  my  signet-ring, 
My  crown  and  sceptre,  and  deliver  them 
Unto  my  son,  Antiochus  Eupator  ; 
And  unto  the  good  Jews,  my  citizens, 
In  all  my  towns,  say  that  their  dying  monarch 
Wisheth  them  joy,  prosperity,  and  health. 
I  who,  puffed  up  with  pride  and  arrogance, 
Thought  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth  mine  own, 
If  I  would  but  outstretch  my  hand  and  take  them, 
Meet  face  to  face  a  greater  potentate, 
King  Death  —  Epiphanes  —  the  Illustrious  ! 

Dies. 


BOOK    THIED. 


A  HANDFUL   OF  TRANSLATIONS. 


THE   FUGITIVE. 

Tartar  Song,  from  the  Prose  Version  of  Cliodzko. 

I. 

"  HE  is  gone  to  the  desert  land  1 
I  can  see  the  shining  mane 
Of  his  horse  on  the  distant  plain, 
As  he  rides  with  his  Kossak  band  ! 

"  Come  back,  rebellious  one ! 
Let  thy  proud  heart  relent ; 
Come  back  to  my  tall,  white  tent, 
Come  back,  my  only  son  ! 

"  Thy  hand  in  freedom  shalL 
Cast  thy  hawks,  when  morning  breaks, 
On  the  swans  of  the  Seven  Lakes, 
On  the  lakes  of  KarajaL 

12 


178  TRANSLATIONS. 

"  I  will  give  tliee  leave  to  stray 
And  pasture  thy  hunting  steeds 
In  the  long  grass  and  the  reeds 
Of  the  meadows  of  Karaday. 

"  I  will  give  thee  my  coat  of  mail, 
Of  softest  leather  made, 
With  choicest  steel  inlaid ; 
Will  not  all  this  prevail  ? " 


THE    FUGITIVE.  179 


II. 

"  This  hand  no  longer  shall 
Cast  my  hawks,  when  morning  breaks, 
On  the  swans  of  the  Seven  Lakes, 
On  the  lakes  of  Karajal. 

"  I  will  no  longer  stray 
And  pasture  my  hunting  steeds 
In  the  long  grass  and  the  reeds 
Of  the  meadows  of  Karaday. 

"  Though  thou  give  ine  thy  coat  of  mail, 
*  Of  softest  leather  made, 
With  choicest  steel  inlaid, 

All  this  cannot  prevail. 

/ 

"What  right  hast  thou,  0  Khan, 
To  me,  who  am  mine  own, 


180  TRANSLATIONS. 

"Who  am  slave  to  God  alone, 
And  not  to  any  man  ? 

"  God  will  appoint  the  day 

When  I  again  shall  be 

By  the  blue,  shallow  sea, 

Where  the  steel-bright  sturgeons  play. 

"  God,  who  doth  care  for  me, 
In  the  barren  wilderness, 
On  unknown  hills,  no  less 
Will  my  companion  be. 

"  When  I  wander  lonely  and  lost 
In  the  wind ;  when  I  watch  at  night 
Like  a  hungry  wolf,  and  am  white 
And  covered  with  hoar-frost ; 

"  Yea,  wheresoever  I  be, 
In  the  yellow  desert  sands, 
In  mountains  or  unknown  lands, 
Allah  will  care  for  me ! " 


THE    FUGITIVE.  181 


III. 

Then  Sobra,  the  old,  old  man,  — 
Three  hundred  and  sixty  years 
Had  he  lived  in  this  land  of  tears, 
Bowed  down  and  said,  "  0  Khan ! 

"  If  you  bid  me,  I  will  speak. 
There  's  no  sap  in  dry  grass, 
No  marrow  in  dry  bones  !    Alas, 
The  mind  of  old  men  is  weak  I 

"  I  am  old,  I  am  very  old : 
I  have  seen  the  primeval  man, 
I  have  seen  the  great  Gengis  Khan, 
Arrayed  in  his  robes  of  gold. 

"  What  I  say  to  you  is  the  truth ; 
And  I  say  to  you,  0  Khan, 


182  TRANSLATIONS. 

Pursue  not  the  star-white  man, 
Pursue  not  the  beautiful  youth. 

"  Him  the  Almighty  made, 
And  brought  him  forth  of  the  light,  - 
At  the  verge  and  end  of  the  night, 
When  men  on  the  mountain  prayed. 

"  He  was  born  at  the  break  of  day, 
When  abroad  the  angels  walk ; 
He  hath  listened  to  their  talk, 
And  he  knoweth  what  they  say. 

"  Gifted  with  Allah's  grace, 
Like  the  moon  of  Eamazan 
When  it  shines  in  the  skies,  0  Khan, 
Is  the  light  of  his  beautiful  face. 

"  When  first  on  earth  he  trod, 
The  first  words  that  he  said 


THE    FUGITIVE.  183 

Were  these,  as  he  stood  and  prayed, 
There  is  no  God  but  God ! 

"  And  he  shall  be  king  of  men, 
For  Allah  hath  heard  his  prayer, 
And  the  Archangel  in  the  air, 
Gabriel,  hath  said,  Amen  I " 


THE  SIEGE  OF  KAZAN. 

Tartar  Song,  from  the  Prose  Version  of  OhodzJco. 

BLACK  are  the  moors  before  Kazan, 

And  their  stagnant  waters  smell  of  blood 

I  said  in  my  heart,  with  horse  and  man, 
I  will  swim  across  this  shallow  flood. 

Under  the  feet  of  Argamack, 

Like  new  moons  were  the  shoes  he  bare, 
Silken  trappings  hung  on  his  back, 

In  a  talisman  on  his  neck,  a  prayer. 

My  warriors,  thought  I,  are  following  me  ; 

But  when  I  looked  behind,  alas  ! 
ISTot  one  of  all  the  band  could  I  see, 

All  had  sunk  in  the  black  morass  I 


THE    SIEGE    OF   KAZAN.  185 

Where  are  our  shallow  fords  ?  and  where 
The  power  of  Kazan  with  its  fourfold  gates  ? 

From  the  prison  windows  our  maidens  fair 
Talk  of  us  still  through  the  iron  grates. 

We  cannot  hear  them  ;  for  horse  and  man 
Lie  buried  deep  in  the  dark  abyss ! 

Ah  !  the  black  day  hath  come  down  on  Kazan  ! 
Ah  !  was  ever  a  grief  like  this  ? 


THE    BOY  AND   THE   BEOOK. 

Armenian  Popular  Song,  from  the  Prose   Version  of 
Alishan. 

DOWN  from  yon  distant  mountain  height 

The  brooklet  flows  through  the  village  street ; 
A  boy  comes  forth  to  wash  his  hands, 
Washing,  yes  washing,  there  he  stands, 
In  the  water  cool  and  sweet. 

Brook,  from  what  mountain  dost  thou  come 

0  my  brooklet  cool  and  sweet ! 
I  come  from  yon  mountain  high  and  cold, 
Where  lieth  the  new  snow  on  the  old, 

And  melts  in  the  summer  heat. 

Brook,  to  what  river  dost  thou  go  ? 
0  my  brooklet  cool  and  sweet ! 


THE  BOY  AND  THE  BROOK.         187 

I  go  to  the  river  there  below 
Where  in  bunches  the  violets  grow, 
And  sun  and  shadow  meet. 

Brook,  to  what  garden  dost  thou  go  ? 

0  my  brooklet  cool  and  sweet ! 
I  go  to  the  garden  in  the  vale 
Where  all  night  long  the  nightingale 

Her  love-song  doth  repeat. 

Brook,  to  what  fountain  dost  thou  go  ? 

O  my  brooklet  cool  and  sweet ! 
I  go  to  the  fountain  at  whose  brink 
The  maid  that  loves  thee  comes  to  drink, 
And  whenever  she  looks  therein, 
I  rise  to  meet  her,  and  kiss  her  chin, 

And  my  joy  is  then  complete. 


TO  THE' STORK. 

Armenian  Popular  Song,  from  the  Prose  Version  of 
Alishan. 

WELCOME,  0  Stork  !  that  dost  wing 
Thy  flight  from  the  far-away ! 

Thou  hast  brought  us  the  signs  of  Spring, 
Thou  hast  made  our  sad  hearts  gay. 

Descend,  0  Stork  !  descend 

Upon  our  roof  to  rest ; 
In  our  ash-tree,  0  my  friend, 

My  darling,  make  thy  nest. 

\ 
To  thee,  0  Stork,  I  complain, 

0  Stork,  to  thee  I  impart 
The  thousand  sorrows,  the  pain 
And  aching  of  my  heart. 


TO    THE    STORK.  189 

"When  thou  away  didst  go, 

Away  from  this  tree  of  ours, 
The  withering  winds  did  blow, 

And  dried  up  all  the  flowers. 

Dark  grew  the  brilliant  sky, 

Cloudy  and  dark  and  drear ; 
They  were  breaking  the  snow  on  high, 

And  winter  was  drawing  near. 


From  Yaraca's  rocky  wall, 

From  the  rock  of  Yaraca  unrolled, 
The  snow  came  and  covered  all, 

And  the  green  meadow  was  cold. 

0  Stork,  our  garden  with  snow 
Was  hidden  away  and  lost, 

And  the  rose-trees  that  in  it  grow 
Were  withered  by  snow  and  frost. 


CONSOLATION. 

To  M.  Duperrier,  Gentleman  of  Aix  in  Provence,  on  the 
Death  of  his  Daughter. 


FROM   MALHERBE. 


WILL  then,  Duperrier,  thy  sorrow  be  eternal  ? 

And  shall  the  sad  discourse 
Whispered  within  thy  heart,  by  tenderness  pa 
ternal, 

Only  augment  its  force  ? 


Thy  daughter's   mournful  fate,  into  the  tomb 
descending 

By  death's  frequented  ways, 
Has  it  become  to  tliee  a  labyrinth  never  ending, 

Where  thy  lost  reason  strays  ? 


CONSOLATION.  191 

I  know  the  charms  that  made  her  youth  a  bene 
diction  : 

Nor  should  I  be  content, 
As  a  censorious  friend,  to  solace  thine  affliction, 

By  her  disparagement. 

But  she  was  of  the  world,  which  fairest  things 

exposes 

To  fates  the  most  forlorn ; 
A  rose,  she  too  hath  lived  as  long  as  live  the 

roses, 
The  space  of  one  brief  morn. 


Death  has  his   rigorous  laws,  unparalleled,  un 
feeling  ; 

All  prayers  to  him  are  vain ; 
Cruel,  he  stops  his  ears,  and,  deaf  to  our  appeal 
ing, 
He  leaves  us  to  complain. 


192  TRANSLATIONS. 

The  poor  man  in  his  hut,  with  only  thatch  for 

cover, 

Unto  these  laws  must  bend ; 
The  sentinel   that  guards   the  barriers  of  the 

Louvre 
Cannot  our  kings  defend. 

To  murmur  against  death,  in  petulant  defiance, 

Is  never  for  the  best ; 

To  will  what  God  doth  will,  that  is  the  only 
science 

That  gives  us  any  rest. 


TO   CARDINAL   RICHELIEU. 


FROM  MALHERBE. 


THOU  mighty  Prince  of  Church  and  State, 
Eichelieu !  until  the  hour  of  death, 
Whatever  road  man  chooses.  Fate 
Still  holds  him  subject  to  her  breath. 
Spun  of  all  silks,  our  days  and  nights 
Have  sorrows  woven  with  delights ; 
And  of  this  intermingled  shade 
Our  various  destiny  appears, 
Even  as  one  sees  the  course  of  years 
Of  summers  and  of  winters  made. 

Sometimes  the  soft,  deceitful  hours' 
Let  us  enjoy  the  halcyon  wave ; 
Sometimes  impending  peril  lowers 
Beyond  the  seaman's  skill  to  save. 

13 


194  TRANSLATIONS. 

The  Wisdom,  infinitely  wise, 
That  gives  to  human  destinies 
Their  foreordained  necessity, 
Has  made  no  law  more  fixed  below, 
Than  the  alternate  ebb  and  flow 
Of  Fortune  and  Adversity. 


THE  ANGEL  AND  THE  CHILD. 

FROM  JEAN  EEBOUL,    THE    BAKER    OF   NISMES. 

AN  angel  with  a  radiant  face, 

Above  a  cradle  bent  to  look, 
Seemed  his  own  image  there  to  trace, 

As  in  the  waters  of  a  brook. 

t 

"  Dear  child !  who  me  resemblest  so," 
It  whispered,  "  come,  O  come  with  me  ! 

Happy  together  let  us  go, 

The  earth  unworthy  is  of  thee ! 

"  Here  none  to  perfect  bliss  attain  ; 

The  soul  in  pleasure  suffering  lies  ; 
Joy  hath  an  undertone  of  pain, 

And  even  the  happiest  hours  their  sighs. 


196  TRANSLATIONS. 

"  Fear  doth  at  every  portal  knock  ; 

Never  a  day  serene  and  pure 
From  the  o'ershadowing  tempest's  shock 

Hath  made  the  morrow's  dawn  secure. 


"  What,  then,  shall  sorrows  and  shall  fears 
Come  to  disturb  so  pure  a  brow  ? 

And  with  the  bitterness  of  tears 
These  eyes  of  azure  troubled  grow  ? 

"  Ah  no  !  into  the  fields  of  space, 
Away  slialt  thou  escape  with  me ; 

And  Providence  will  grant  thee  grace 
Of  all  the  days  that  were  to  be. 

"  Let  no  one  in  thy  dwelling  cower, 

In  sombre  vestments  draped  and  veiled  ; 

But  let  them  welcome  thy  last  hour, 
As  thy  first  moments  once  they  hailed. 


THE  ANGEL  AND  THE  CHILD.        197 

"  Without  a  cloud  be  there  each  brow ; 

There  let  the  grave  no  shadow  cast ; 
When  one  is  pure  as  thou  art  now, 

The  fairest  day  is  still  the  last." 

And  waving  wide  his  wings  of  white, 
The  angel,  at  these  words,  had  sped 

Towards  the  eternal  realms  of  light !  — 
Poor  mother !  see,  thy  son  is  dead ! 


TO    ITALY. 

FROM     FILICAJA. 

ITALY  !  Italy  !  thou  who  'rt  doomed  to  wear 
The  fatal  gift  of  beauty,  and  possess 
The  dower  funest  of  infinite  wretchedness, 
Written  upon  thy  forehead  by  despair  ; 
Ah  !   would  that  thou  wert   stronger,  or  less 

fair, 
That  they  might  fear  thee  more,  or  love  thee 

less, 

Who  in  the  splendor  of  thy  loveliness 
Seem  wasting,  yet  to  mortal  combat  dare  ! 
Then  from  the  Alps  I  should  not  see  descend 
ing 

Such  torrents  of  armed  men,  nor  Gallic  horde 
Drinking   the   wave   of    Po,    distained  with 
gore, 


TO    ITALY. 

Nor  should  I  see  thee  girded  with  a  sword 
Not  thine,  and  with  the  stranger's  arm  con 
tending, 
Victor  or  vanquished,  slave  forevermore. 


WANDERER'S  NIGHT-SONGS. 


FROM   GOETHE. 


I. 

THOU  that  from  the  heavens  art, 
Every  pain  and  sorrow  stillest, 
And  the  doubly  wretched  heart 
Doubly  with  refreshment  fillest, 
I  am  weary  with  contending  ! 
Why  this  rapture  and  unrest  ? 
Peace  descending 
Come,  ah,  come  into  my  breast ! 

II. 

O'er  all  the  hill-tops 
Is  quiet  now, 
In  all  the  tree-tops 
Hearest  thou 


WANDERER'S  NIGHT-SONGS.  201 

Hardly  a  breath ; 

The  birds  are  asleep  in  the  trees  : 

Wait ;  soon  like  these 

Thou  too  shalt  rest. 


REMORSE. 

FROM  AUGUST  VON  PLATEN. 

How  I  started  up  in  the  night,  in  the  night, 
Drawn  on  without  rest  or  reprieve! ! 

The  streets,  with  their  watchmen,  were  lost  to 

my  sight, 

As  I  wandered  so  light 
In  the  night,  in  the  night, 

Through  the  gate  with  the  arch  mediaeval. 

The  mill-brook  rushed  from  the  rocky  height, 
I  leaned  o'er  the  bridge  in  my  yearning ; 

Deep  under  me  watched  I  the  waves  in  their 

flight, 

As  they  glided  so  light 
In  the  night,  in  the  night, 

Yet  backward  not  one  was  returning. 


REMOKSE.  203 

O'erhead  were  revolving,  so  countless  and  bright, 

The  stars  in  melodious  existence; 
And  with  them  the  moon,  more  serenely  be- 
dight ;  — 

They  sparkled  so  light 

In  the  night,  in  the  night, 
Through  the  magical,  measureless  distance. 

And  upward  I  gazed  in  the  night,  in  the  night, 
And  again  on  the  waves  in  their  fleeting ; 

Ah  woe !  thou  hast  wasted  thy  days  in  delight, 
Now  silence  thou  light, 
In  the  night,  in  the  night, 

The  remorse  in  thy  heart  that  is  beating. 


SANTA   TERESA'S   BOOK-MARK. 

FROM  THE   SPANISH  OF  SANTA  TERESA. 

LET  nothing  disturb  thee, 
Nothing  affright  thee ; 
All  things  are  passing ; 
God  never  changeth ; 
Patient  endurance 
Attaineth  to  all  things  ; 
Who  God  possesseth 
In  nothing  is  wanting ; 
Alone  God  sufficeth. 


THE    EN  D. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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LD  21A-60m-10,'65 

General  Library 

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